House of Shards
by lordbasileusJon
Summary: Nothing lasts forever. Harry Potter returns to Britain forgotten with his reputation tarnished by his own past. His exile changed him and not exactly for the better. Post Deathly Hallows AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter characters, books etc. in any way... J. K. Rowling does and I simply use her world for a bit of storytelling.

AN: You may find a long abandoned story House of Shards. This work aims to finish the original without the clutter it brought. I must continue under a new account as the original password, and the e-mail account linked to it, is long lost. Think of it as a leaner, meaner version of the story. May Ian Richardson smile on you all.

* * *

 **Chapter I: The Prodigal Son Returns**

 _Lo_ _'_ _behold! The Isle of Avalon. The answer to all our hopes and dreams. The land of Emerald stretches before me. Many kings have shed blood for the briefest glimpse of it. I however Am not a king. Stand on its fertile shore, Stranger, and watch it be forgotten._

-Baubles of the Blind-

Nothing lasts forever. Even the seamlessly unbreakable tyranny is swept away by the ceaseless and never aging time and replaced with something else. I stress the word 'something' in my statement for it does not mean that the ways of conduct in the political arena will change for the better simply because someone believes he has the will or the right to try.

Too often is the mob that wrestled away the shackles of power from a terrible monster that wielded them encouraged to destroy everything that the creature used to drain some blood. Too often people dismantle that which was before and plunge the country into new darkness.

There is a new age coming. Not many can recognize the shivers of ominous anticipation. None of them can see the signs. Soon, very soon, we will be more vulnerable than ever before.

They should feel it in their bones. Their survival instinct should propel them to take up arms against this unknown fear. Instead, they will close their eyes, avert their heads and like thousands of lemmings run directly to the edge of a cliff.

You may ask how I know all this; where in my feverish mind I have stumbled across this information. Trust me then as I say that you cannot trust me. Know then that you will never know what the other truth is. The only version of it I can present to you is the one I believe to be the closest to my beliefs and knowledge.

What? You want to know my name? I cannot see how it could do any harm. Oh, do I see your lips twitching in a sudden recognition of my familiar features? Do I smile politely as your eyes widen when you hear my bitter words? You would not expect me to say them, yet I do, but not out loud, of course. Is my scar enough? The lightning bolt-like reminder of who I used to be. You must know by now.

Have it your way! Nowadays, I go by Lord Harry, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, and as of today your representative in the Wizengamot.

* * *

It is just another bleak day on our beloved isle. Few streets from the neo-gothic beauty of the Westminster stands an old, shabby-looking building. The occasional pedestrian may wonder, why no one cares to remove this monstrosity from the times long past- as it clearly defies every single statute of the realm concerning safety and hygiene regulations. Someone should just tear it down.

We wizards, the others, the abnormally gifted, however you may call us, flock to that construction every day as if it were a center of the universe. To Muggle eye it may seem that we simply want to make a call from an old red telephone booth at the end of that very familiar street. Those eyes are deceiving you. Who uses them anymore?

We defend ourselves by creating these small ruses and hiding places. Maybe it is something about the plain sight that makes a statement about my people. We are always just one illusion away from a catastrophe that would endanger our very lives. It is a mistake that has to be addressed. You will need someone from Wizengamot, a man with political clouts and pockets full favours and money if you want to make sense of all of this.

Me? I am nobody. The former hero and Saviour of the Wizarding world…Thanks to our beloved media I can finally move freely for now.

Was there a prophecy about me? What did the papers do? They printed out rumours, lots of them. There once was Harry Potter a hero. He is no more. Popularity ebbs away as fast as the feeble paper surrenders to the rot. Maybe it is the memories of something that waste away first.

I played virtually every role that is available: frightened child, angry teenager, lovesick idiot, Undesirable no.1 etc. and that was a hell of a journey.

There is no denying. My position is extremely fragile at the moment and you must forgive me that.

You may meet a lot of familiar faces in the newly refurbished hall of our hallowed Ministry.

"Look what cat dragged in from the outside! Potty, Potty why in the hell have you come back?"

Draco Malfoy, how easily people forget. How easily they can change should proper incentive present itself. If he is doing this after all these years I can be certain that much had not changed in Malfoy Manor. It is actually a pity for it presents only less challenge for man like me. No, there are no men like me.

"Lord Malfoy, how pleasant to see your face after all these long years and seeing that your contribution to conversation is still as interesting as it was back then." I give the bastard a cheeky smile. It is highly improper to show one's emotions and I can clearly see how the House of Malfoy managed to fall so low. The debt is still owed to me.

"I would spend some more time in your company, but the time is money and I leave you with my condolences to your mother- your father's death must have been a tragedy for her. I would spend more time catching up with you, but I am not that sentimental." I tap the brim of my hat with a cane and leave gaping Malfoy heir behind me. It wouldn't be Draco though, should he not fire last one on me when I am not facing him.

His hissing sounds slightly akin to: "Have a nice day beggar."

As I hinted, the man has no bottom and no manners. Those who know the higher society will tire quickly from his angry and petty outbursts. I am member of no society, for I believe there is no such thing.

Oh, I see. You are a bit interested in my current financial situation. Well, it is certainly not that bad. Otherwise, how would I afford these silk robes and dragon leather boots? It is not that good either. Why else would someone like me become a politician? You heard how this came to be? You knew that Potters were well off? I guess I cannot avoid it. You are my voters after all and I have to repay you the favour, in a way.

There is some bitterness inside of me. Revenge? No, no... I just want to serve and offer my years of experience and knowledge in magical disciplines to the government. I admit that the post brings some pleasures, but I am not a man who needs, how did she put it, blonde bimbos to be satisfied. I hold no grudges against these petty people; their only crime is, after all, being a nice herd of docile sheep, and those are everywhere. Maybe there is still a bit of anger speaking.

And here they come- old lions, witty thieves, rugged brutes and all of them are very eager to get the Shacklebolt's place. How long will it take? The man was practically a hero that got us out of slump. He rode the wave of nausea that followed the post war discoveries of pureblood atrocities. Now, he is leaving the office with nearly a hundred percent approval rates.

The Daily Prophet hails him as someone who has always listened to people. Someone, who looked out for them and made their lives easier and safer. Someone, who passed the legislature to abolish the hereditary status of the Wizengamot membership. The man, who stood firmly and helped when Harry Potter decided to run away.

My supposed retreat was, of course, something they could have expected- one does not simply win the war and then launch himself into work without taking a short break. I admit that seven years is no short time, but I did not spend them frolicking and sleeping. No, I have laid the seeds of knowledge that will be ripe one day. Maybe soon, maybe in a few years' time, but thing is that they will be; of that I am absolutely certain.

It is a gasp of surprise that greets me in the hall; few scorning remarks are sent my way. It is nothing I cannot endure. Some of them are whispering and pointing fingers, how lovely to know that some things simply do not change. I just brushed away hair on my forehead to make the old scar visible.

"My lords and ladies, I give you the Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt." There is a roar of approval and wave of polite clapping. I decided to sit next to Susan Bones. She changed a great deal since I've seen her last. She awards me with a polite smile, everything for the former hero of the Wizarding world.

The tall black man stands up and starts his carefully written speech. How can we say no to the last farewell?

"Everyone knows that I never wanted to become a politician. I have always thought myself rather man of action than the one who has to plan the action, get the seal of approval and writ of arrest. This approach, however, helped me to rebuild the British Wizarding government and our world in the eight years I spent in my position." Another round of applause- booming, rising, alive. Shacklebolt waited a moment and then cut the sound with his hand- silence fell nearly immediately.

"We have changed the way of politics: no longer it a shabby dealing full of corruption and embezzlement. We have not only set limit to the politician's powers by abolition of hereditary Wizengamot, but also made lords and ladies criminally accountable for any crime they commit. I can honestly say that we are all equal." Nice lines, deep voice to carry them across; the man had probably found himself. It is shame to let him leave. Well, certainly shame for some.

"We have built a solid economy and our coffers are overflowing with wealth. Our merchants and craftsmen are well received throughout the world. Anti-discrimination laws we have passed through this chamber changed the status of many Muggleborns who are no longer leaving because of the contempt that the pure-blooded society held for them. I want to thank you all for your help, votes and continuous support. I for one am looking forward to see our new two-party system at work." He paused a bit.

"My decision to leave is personal. I have given my best years of my life to this nation and time has come to be a bit selfish and spend some time with my family. I want to thank Arthur Weasley- my Head of Exchequer for his friendship and wonderful dealing with finances, my friend Ahvar Patil for excellent work and many friendships he acquired as our Foreign Department Head. Of course there are many others, many others to be remembered, and those who work for the Wizarding world- Aurors, Unspeakables, Floo operators, and teachers just to name few. I thank you and salute to the work you have done." The man is not smug. He is victorious. Hush! He continues!

"Talking about teachers, it is through their enthusiasm and determination that we were able to reform our greatest educational institution- the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It took all our efforts, but I can clearly say that our students have never enjoyed so much freedom and equality in an environment that is not abusive, but supports spirit and creativity. May our nation grow many great minds and discover many wonders in realm of magic. Thank you that would be all." He waved and smiled, showing his white teeth to the applauding crowd. Nearly everyone stood up to honour the leaving Minister. Time for cordiality ended. It is time for me to ready for battle.

* * *

"Order! Order!" shouts the highly vexed Chief Warlock and stomps with his gavel. " I want to remind Rgt. Hon. Lords and Ladies not to stray from the debate and debase themselves to petty squabbling that has nothing to do with debate as well as unnecessary insults. That goes especially to you lady Robbards! Order!" I must admit that I never understood Dumbledore's insistence on me having my childhood intact. These people are clearly enjoying themselves. On the other hand, it is not that hard to stand out- one simply has to behave like an adult.

"All members of the House will return to their seats or I'll call Aurors to maintain order!" Well, it seemed that Chief Warlock was really losing his temper. However, the overgrown kids had returned to their seats and there were no further disruptions.

"We shall now put our three candidates under Wizegamot's vote. Those in favour of John Dawlish?" There is silence. I must wonder how many votes would these Auror lackeys get should Amelia Bones still be amongst the living. No one is interested in that old lion. Just few sorely lone hands had gone up. This is not the right way. I can hear the Chief Warlock proclaiming that 'majority' has not been reached and we will vote for another candidate.

"Those in favour of Draco Malfoy," the sheer impossibility of this choice nearly makes me chuckle. Who would vote for the twit? Well, it turns out that according to the old pureblood rule of sticking together, there is quite a few.

"Draco Malfoy receives forty-four votes, no majority." That was quite close. Out of one hundred and one that is what I call a bit of luck. It seems that Kingsley wasn't so successful in his purges.

"All those in favour of Arthur Weasley as the future Minister for Magic." Middle ground, pureblood and recently alleviated upstart without any desire but to rule in favour of people. It makes my nose bleed. Visiting Florence has its advantages but the discovery of the Society is the most significant one of them. You didn't think I spent my years in exile moping and beating myself? Oh, you did. Well, they have no idea what they are going to deal with. Many voters of my constituency didn't believe that it was I, even when I showed them the scar.

The loss of my family´s ancient seat and the manner of my departure all those years ago left them a bit suspicious about my own mental health. I must admit that my natural charm as well as my rousing speech left them excited. The result was a premature end of political career for the young Lord Longbottom as well as quite a hefty bill for various alcoholic beverages I purchased.

I can quite imagine your surprise when I say that it was Arthur Weasley who invited me back. Well, who else can work so skillfully with state's money if not a careful thief? They certainly make the best financiers.

"Arthur Weasley receives forty-seven votes, no majority."

"Gentlemen and Ladies, as the first vote failed to produce a clear winner we shall vote again. I stress the importance of the vote. We cannot continue until the next Minister is voted in. Thank you." It seems that Chief Warlock wants to be somewhere else. Maybe at Madame Precious- the most famous brothel in Diagon Alley, says my informant. You did not think that I would come to this den of snakes without one? Oh, I know them all and as being a Potter is nowadays equal to dimwit. I will make them eat their words and deeds. All in due time, Arthur said that he had a job for me. We will see.

I suppose it comes as no big surprise that Arthur wins the next vote. My knees are trembling when I think about the long reign of terror that scamp Draco Malfoy would bring.

Yes, it is not good to underestimate any of your opponents, but just thinking about the blond ponce is giving him enough credit. It takes seventy-three long hours for Weasley to emerge the victor, for now. It is a bare majority. Parkinson was clearly paid off. I need my nap, but first I stand up to congratulate the new Interim Minister, holding my hand behind my back. How many knives are in human smile?

It is time to face the same old music. They are waiting for me in the Ministry lobby and I am not very keen to talk, but still- it is a part of my job. The sacrifices I make…

They want an interview with the old Harry Potter. Sorry to break it so late, the fellow is gone.

"Do you have anything to say, Lord Potter? Are you here to stir the pot of our stale politics? How do you feel, returning to the country that had ridiculed you and to people that robbed you? Are you angry? Vindictive? Forgiving?" I smile on my favourite blonde reporter; gosh that woman looks akin to a character from American noir stories. I smile.

"Are you hoping to get a place in the new government? Any promises from the new Minister? Do you believe you are the most qualified to get one after your abandonment of your people?" Eternally digging for the right kind of information; that is what journalists usually do. Leaving out the little fact that most of the vitriol was from her. My reply must be just as nonsensical as the times we live in.

"Come, come Rita. You may very well think that; I couldn't possibly comment."

They laugh. Good, I like merry people, they tend not to use their brains at the moment of giggling and ask fewer questions. What's next? Oh, I thought you knew.

Well, it is about the time to put a bit of a stick about.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter characters, books etc. in any way... J. K. Rowling does and I simply use her world for a bit of storytelling.**

 **Thank you for all your reviews.**

 **Chapter II: Pretending**

Somewhere in Germany a man is having his last glass of wine at the end of what seems to be an uneventful day. It is already dark outside and he has to hurry if he wants to be able to wake up early tomorrow. December welcomes him with a terribly cold weather. He simply murmurs a short incantation and delightes at the pleasant warmth that courses through him.

He has to have a cigarette. Feeble noodle of smoke slowly rises to the light of the street lamp above him. Everything sleeps as the snowy fairy land was moves its translucent soldiers- the snowflakes through the air. Moving, ye so perfectly dead. There is something unnerving about all that stillness. He cannot grasp it. Hendelstrasse is not one of those busy streets you can see in crowded metropolises around the world, but it isn't a little village road in the middle of nowhere either. He therefore decides to do what any sane wizard scenting danger would do. He tries to apparate.

His attempt is unsuccessful, thanks to an invisible solid barrier which prevents him from leaving the place. The feeling is more akin to a growing, unavoidable pressure that causes his magic to choke, rather than some invisible wall hanging in the air. The willow wand he holds in his hand was emits a soft bluish glow as he waves it through the air in desperate need to discover the disturbance. A jolt of panic shoots through him. He swears loudly and whispers:"Nox." He is in desperate need to actually see the street. He needed darkness. Bright electric lights of the lamps flicker wildly, but don't go out.  
"Scheisse." He swears loudly- something is wrong.

"Indeed, Herr Schuler. I hope you enjoyed your evening and your drink." A young man walks into the light. His long coat is covered by layer of snow  
and his vibrantly green eyes shine through the shadows as he searches for the man ́s face. "You! You have raised the anti-apparition wards." It is not a question.

"Yes, my friend. I believe you are very interested about the reason for this unusual visit. There are no wards though. I simply needed my wand." The old wizard in front of him wavers slightly as if it is difficult for him to keep balance. His opponent has head full of untameable hair and a devil's grin. Perhaps he is nothing more than a drunken mind ́s reflection upon ice and snow. His hands feel heavy and his heart thunders mile a minute.

"I want information, of course. What else would I seek? You should know my name." There is no curiosity, only flat direct answer to his question.  
"I've never seen you before, young man. What is happening to me?" He is lying, of course.  
"That would be your drink or rather something I used to enhance it a bit." There is a pregnant pause.  
"You have poisoned me?" Schuler's wand falls down and is left lying in the snow. A terrible numbness overcomes him. His legs start to wobble a bit. His poisoner catches him just a second before he could hit frozen ground.  
"What information could I possibly give you?"  
"No, it doesn't work that way, Heinrich. Shouldn't you recognize me by now, or have you actually gone senile? You know what I need. You on the other  
hand, have a very limited choice. Let us settle for relatively painless death, if you provide me with the information I seek."  
"I am just lowly Ministerial worker and I have wife and..." He is cut off by mirthless laughter and everything goes blurry as the familiar tug behind his navel spirits him away.

He lands painfully on hard floor and feels his ankle give way. His stomach is convulsing with fervour and causes him terrible pain. His captor stands only a few feet away, looking intently at his glowing pocket watch.  
"You are dying Heinrich. Surely you must have a bit of conscience inside of you? No? Why am I not surprised? Lumos!" A strong wave of light flickers through the immense space they find themselves in, exposing dreadful grins of hundreds of gargoyles. They seem to be inside a cathedral, one of the buildings Muggles build to worship their god. The light fades as quickly as it came and is replaced by the soft beams of Luna.

"What was the poison? What was it, dammit?" The figure in the shadows doesn ́t answer. He felt another flash of pain and some liquid trickled down his face. He tried to wipe it off.  
"So many visitors seek repentance and forgiveness. So many are terrified of these stone monsters." His kidnapper waves around to accentuate the number of hideous statues.  
"I don't think that there have ever been two greater monsters in need of relief in these walls. I will ask again Heinrich. Are you willing to tell me where Skersog Skyellyg is?" The poisoned man chortles. His next words are spoken with difficulty.  
"Do you really expect me to divulge such information to you, Potter? I am already dead, someone just has to tell my brain. I don't need to spend my eternity in torture." The only thing visible is a flash of white teeth from the dark corner where his murderer stands.  
"I will find him, Heinrich. You may as well tell me and avoid a very long and painful death." You see, I told you, they always know. Even the absolute idiots understand- you simply cannot threaten a man who is not afraid of death.  
"The poison? What was it?" Schuler asks, cementing the fact that he is determined to show no fear. You do not ask your killer how sharp the blade was. Do you?  
"Would that knowledge sway your decision?"  
"Not in the least, I think it is a pleasure of every potion master to know what caused us to meet our premature end." They are unsettling sort, these  
potion makers.  
"Then tell me and I am willing to let you waste away in this masochistic display. I will give the name of the potion as well."  
"You have grown, Potter. You give cruelty and pain easily. You truly are Skyerson ́s masterpiece."  
"You will remain silent!" The man continues undeterred.  
"Yes, from goody two shoes and hero of the fucking Light into a murderer. We will win in the end. You cannot run from yourself, Princess." The only answer to his taunt is a silent crack of apparition. Potter is long gone.

Heinrich will not pray. He had forgotten the words over the long years. The poison must have been Moonlight ́s Scream. Very dangerous. He has about three more hours of convulsion and vomiting ahead of him. Following that a trauma will come and some serious hallucinations usually follow. He could nearly believe the Potter boy. What waits for the monsters, but the most gruesome end? He will likely piss himself very soon. All life is just dirty sweat, waste and blood. Skyellyg will take revenge for him. Silvery tears falling out of his eyes are just fake reminder of the end, which is as pitiful as one can be.

* * *

"Master you have a Floo call from the Ministry." Yes, I do not deny that keeping Kreacher as my house elf may seem a bit off, but take it from my point of view- money is tight and I can barely maintain Grimmauld Place up and running as a proper household. I raise my wand and start swishing around. The magical methods of cleaning are neat and fast. Piles of clothes wrap themselves around me and I feel slightly better. This is something I refuse to let my little knife-charge leading friend with big ears to help me with. It must have something to do with the fact that even after all those years since I entered the Wizarding World I am still excited to see things that only magic can do. Who would ever go Muggle?

When I arrive downstairs you can spot big and smiling face of Arthur Weasley, pardon the Minister, hovering in the roaring fireplace. How I detest the man. Reminds me of the Emperor's favourite horse- you know the one that was made a senator. His smile is broad and warm.  
"Sir, how nice of you to floo by; how can I help you?" I act surprised, which I assume would be a natural reaction to such an important visit. Naturally, I expected something like it.

"Harry, stop with this ́sir ́ business. Can I come through? It wouldn't be prudent for my employees to see me on my knees this early." I am quite sure that he is winking as if all this was some kind of private joke. I wish him good buggering.  
"Of course...Arthur," I pronounce his name with slight distaste. I wonder if he has noticed. I step aside, no need to start a day by being knocked down by the leader of magical community. He exits the fireplace without any stumble. Can you remember how long it took me? It seems that someone forgot to tell me the basics of magical travel, one cannot think badly of Hagrid so I'll just let it go.  
"Can I offer you something, Arthur?" He must be deaf not to hear the false politeness in my voice. I didn't't even have to train for this. I despise lying and treachery, but I must hold. Yes, as one old man said: for the Greater Good, the ephemeral thing that makes any action inherently good and right.

" A cup of coffee would be great," he beams. Somehow, I just cannot imagine the former muggle-loving wacko having his teeth magically changed. I guess I missed a lot and if there was an ounce of humour left in my body I would laugh. White smile for the audience.  
I turn to my ever-vigilant house elf.

"Kreacher, prepare one coffee for the guest and one tea with milk as usual for me." I turn to the smaller wizard and motion to the plush armchairs in the living room, perhaps one of the last remnants and reminders of the fall of Noble and Ancient House of Black.  
"Harry," he starts talking very slowly as if weighting every single word," I was delighted when I discovered that you have returned. This whole mess with Ginny was... unfortunate." Man looks uncomfortable, but he is at least trying. Shame that in my book, trying counts for nothing. With past like mine one comes to appreciate the advantages of something real. Promises are nice, but what good comes from them?

A small silvery tray is suddenly hovering between us. A most surprising addition to the conversation I have to say.  
"Yes, but nothing can change that now Arthur. On the other hand, even if we cannot meet as the father and son," I cringe at the thought," Some good may come from any potential cooperation we conduct in the future.

"Observant as always Harry," I am not quite sure if it was meant as an insult since many things I've done in the past are calling for a review in my judgement.

"I have indeed come to offer you a job. The Department of Games and Magical Sports lacks..." I feel my blood simmer as I tune him out for a moment. I hope you will forgive me for this momentous pause.

When I come back he still rambles on.

"...Madame Marbles has been doing a marvelous job so far but I think we need someone younger and bright to act as her Undersecretary." It is real. Trust me, I feel very angry about this. I was not born to polish someone's door handles, so that they can touch them without the fear of infection. He is actually offering me a poster boy position. No real power, very close to nothing.  
No, it is nothing! Well, I am Harry Potter after all. We shall see. Arthur waits for my answer. Spineless... I nod, what else is there to do? Honour may stay in the gutter.

"Capital, Harry, capital! I think the whole Ministerial Council shall be delighted at such good news." I smile and extend my hand. The man has the audacity to actually hug me! My body goes limp and I squash the urge to throw him off me. No sign of him stopping. I end awkwardly patting his back. My hands are empty. For now...

"What date am I to start?" I ask just before he enters the fireplace.  
"Tomorrow," the reply is clear and loud, "Your meeting with Madame Marbles is scheduled at 8 am, don't be late." What bothers me is not the dust he left on my Persian rug (handmade- purchased at Al Barrah- 1866- Elladora Black) but rather the air of assumption that I will do whatever he says. I really do not like people setting me up. Well, blood and toil can wait a bit; until I resolve my lack of finances.

"Kreacher?" I found it dangerous to let my mind wonder what my creepy house elf is up to when he is not completing any tasks issued by me. All of the few guests I have had the pleasure to entertain since my return are afraid of his strange appearance and even more so of his habit to apparate right behind person ́s back. One doesn't want to think about the long knife sliding between withered ribs, right to the vulnerable flesh.

"Prepare some sort of breakfast for me." I order firmly. It is something about our master-servant relationship I must keep. It is for the respect he gets from others of his kind. At least some do not remember that horrific hyphenated name of mine with utter contempt. The little creature probably enjoys the attention he gets from his peers.

"Right away, Master. Kreacher is honoured to serve the Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter and Black." I never knew what pleasure is hidden in these little things. As you are aware, I was brought up as a plebeian and had no chance to enjoy the fine side of life- culture, philosophy, politics and booz...alcohol. Why should I be ashamed of being someone of noble blood? Money will come and my veins are the key to that. Trust me I have a plan.

"Good morning Mr. Potter," a matronly witch with Roman nose greets me;" I am glad that you seem to be a punctual young man." I kiss the offered hand hoping that I won't have to wash my mouth later. She emits a girlish giggle.

"Oh, it seems that politeness is not foreign to you." I bow a bit, not too much- this is not the monarch, just another hurdle to jump over. She motions me to sit down and I patiently wait what she has to say.

"When Arthur spoke about the possibility of Ministry using you for some Ministerial job I wasn't sure how we all felt. We have a lot of work in here Mr. Potter and it often goes unrewarded. I was given a guarantee that you are a hard worker and diligent one too. However, a lot of people come with stunning qualifications and Hogwarts diploma acquired before the education reform. to mirror Muggle higher education is simply not enough." I hate to ask something so simple, but I do it anyway. It is better to seem like a fool than to actually be one.  
"So I will be needing documents to prove that I am not without education? Minister didn't mention anything about it." Her trimmed eyebrows lift up a bit.

"Mr. Potter I want to make one thing explicitly clear. This administration is fighting to root out nepotism and favoritism, it would not be prudent to employ someone..." her eyes focus on my scar, "just for his fame or reject him because of defamation. I need the proof that you are able to use Ministry approved higher level of spells." Are you asking me if I have been expecting something like this? Of course I have. No one knows cost of certain services and things better than I.

"Then I am really glad ma'am that I have prepared myself. I take this offer very seriously." I use my most eager face. Yes, it is a bit of an exaggeration but how else could anyone be happy to stay in such a ridiculous position and be content? I take out my papers and hand them over.

"Are these the originals?" she asks.  
"No, all of them are just copies." She cannot hope to get them; they are resting far away from this place, where they shall remain forever. She just nods in understanding.

"I see that you have passed an Advanced Arithmancy and Complete Runes courses, and under tutorship of Skersog Skyellyg no less." She sounds surprised.

"Yes ma'am, I hope some of his controversial philosophic and political views are not a problem for you?" The woman frowns a little, but you can see underlying mask of admiration.

"You were also awarded the Grand Distinction at Supreme Istituto Magic a Venezia?"  
"Yes, Master Skyellyg is one of their most notable figures and as you can see I obtained high marks in all my subjects." "I will floo Direttore Primo Riviera- just to confirm the data you have provided. It is, of course, a standard procedure. "Of course," I mutter and smile at the lady.

"This is most impressive Mr. Potter," she exclaims as she holds out one of the blue papers," Signor Tomassino writes about your work at Aerial Dockyards with admiration, which is something very uncommon for such unbiased scholar. Are you sure you want to work within administrative? The Ministry has a great need for capable engineers. As you well know our transportation technologies are a bit behind the rest of Europe and such an addition to the team would..." I stop her rant immediately.  
"No ma'am, I want to work for the government of this glorious country."

"Oh, well then, such credentials mean that I have no other choice but to employ you. You seem to be a man of talent Mr. Potter and I am grateful for that. I simply cannot stand incompetence. Come with me and I will show you your office and then you will have the time to complete the paperwork." Yes, the necessary bureaucracy for the restless. How slow and impractical. One of the reasons that lower levels of the departments cannot generate anything brilliant or even remotely interesting and innovative. You have to guide them like a sheep. No wonder when they are drowning in the volumes of red tape. I am finish all the formalities few minutes later.

"Everything appears to be in order Mr. Potter. I am looking forward to working with you. Here this is the first project we were given. Good luck."

I inspect the suitcase with special envelopes charmed to protect the content. You just brush the opening and whisper your name and voilà you can read!

Six hours later and my thorough examination of the facts is over. The whole document had been composed by someone who had only marginal knowledge of organizational issues and challenges this project presents. According to this unbelievable, seven hundred pages long, monstrosity the International broom racing stadium and League are to be established for the Ministry's money without it being able to enforce the usual sporting and Muggle protection rules. These are expenses good for nothing else than corruption and painful, long-winded drivel to boot. I put down my glasses and rub my sore eyes. "Lumos," my lips are completely dry.

You see, I discovered this workaholic streak at the beginning of my Italian studies and when I plunge myself into a task of any kind the only thing I am able to think of is its completion. Study of Arithmancy helps with logic, but the deeper you get into it, the sooner you will see everything like one great equation, a puzzle you need to solve before you embark any further.

The faint glow of my wand is not enough to cover the entire office, but I don't need that since I am about to leave. "Protect!" I order and point my wand at the door lock. Boring office day is over. I am perhaps the last employee still in the building. Everyone is back at their cosy little homes. The most important task of the day is still ahead of me.

A grandiose 'HALL OF RECORDS' sign greets me and I visualize the door being unlocked. Well, I guess nobody can expect Alohomora, although silent, to open any room containing high security information. Three circles, quick swish and very short Swedish incantation are a different thing altogether. It seems that the matrix of the lock can be easily deciphered. Click is certainly a good sign. I open the metal steel imbued with magic repelling rods- standard procedure.  
I swiftly skim the registers- names under P. Oh, here we go.

Harry James Potter-Black  
Father: James Potter- Pureblood  
Mother: Lillian Potter, née Evans-Muggleborn  
Societal status: Nobleman by inheritance and by half of his blood, title revoked by 2003 Equality Act  
Blood status: Half-blood  
Personal status: Single- no serious acquaintances  
Education: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Political status: Member of Wizengamot, Independent  
Lord Potter is person often described as controversial... I skim the rest of the page. There is nothing really interesting, even for you.

His mental health is in question, prone to the bouts of anger...The same old slander. You don't believe it do you? Of course not, that would be incredibly silly. Bouts of anger, as if...

Underachiever with a low self-esteem, this view is supported by the leading Mind Healers as well as by his long-time acquaintance that will remain anonymous for the safety purposes. His behaviour during the purity assault court process also suggests unwillingness to confront people who are or were close to him.

New Entry: Attended various courses in Italy, came in contact with few pureblood supremacists, full observation order- waiting for the approval by the DMLE  
So it is true. They want me to stay and play by their rules. What fools! How can they hope to keep me cornered? Oh anger, you purifying emotion stay put! I shall have a use for you later. Good to know that Arthur is playing it safe. It would be foolish to assume otherwise. He is, after all, a very careful man.  
I close the file my friends. I close the file to forget, but not to forgive. I shall thank them for the rules. They will be easily bypassed. Now off with you then!  
I give a quick salute to the Auror guard who replies in similar manner and leave the Ministry through swirl of green flames.

* * *

I enter the Grimmauld Place kitchen and nearly make a double take over my loyal and completely batty house elf. The poor creature is acting erratic as if the precious caverns of his very sensitive ears were threatened by something so terrible that mere whisper of its existence would render them useless. I am right in a way.

"Master Harry, hurry," it screeches and use of my birth name gives me a definite proof that something is wrong.  
"We have a guest! Master cannot wear his working robes!" He ushers me upstairs where I am given some nice silk ones with family coats of arms entwined together. I am given a stern inspection and assuming that everything is fine I stumble down the stairs. I know that something is not right, but what to expect? I enter and there in my particularly favourite armchair, one of the few family heirlooms that Padfoot genuinely liked, sits one Hermione Granger.

"Kreacher, pray tell me," I say with amused and calm expression, "What was the order I have given you, concerning visits?"

"Master forbids any?" Inside I am livid. Have you noticed the soft voice and gentle reminder that I own the blasted house elf? I find it immensely stimulating to know the right buttons to push and even more to find some new ones. She had to do something to the House Elf. Aye, they may be powerful, but we wizards know our ways of controlling others. Even when said control is not desired at all.

"Then I somehow fail to understand how Miss Granger ended up..."  
"Secretary Granger if you want to be so formal Harry." I smile again. Two can always play this game. The blinding stone stone dangles on her neck. She confounded him.

"Then it is Undersecretary Potter-Black to you Madame." She frowns and bites her lip with suppressed frustration. It is obvious who was able to acquire nerves of steel. Anything that can help them to read you, anything that makes you predictable must go or be covered.

"Listen to me Harry Potter! You cannot treat your friends like this!" Her face is red as she shouts; I presume she has been restraining herself for quite some time.  
"You leave for seven years and when you finally show up you ignore us! Furthermore, I could have a warrant for your arrest drawn up! You treat this conscious little being poorly and..."

"Silencio," I believe that it was Ignatius the Great who invented the spell to shut his loud and crass wife, who was a Lothario in skirts and a source of constant embarrassment for the Great Master.  
"Department Head Granger, I am still by laws and customs of our land a noble lord. You are on my property and I ask you to leave at once, voluntarily. For the sake of our former friendship and for your own good, go home to your husband. I am tired and hungry and as you should know that is not the best combination. Concerning your warrant, you know you have no conclusive evidence.

She gasps softly as the strangling hand envelops her soft body. I know. Still a softie.

" You realise that itwould be my word against yours and though I am nearly bankrupt my blood still means more than your self-righteousness." She watches me with awe as if I suddenly grew two heads, her hands are trembling. The blood jab is probably getting to her. You know that generations of Potters died for this island? Lots of them were egoists and tyrants, but the majority of good men always prevailed.

"But Harry," I merely point at the door. She stands up and slowly walks to the entrance. Her jaw is firmly set and she is unusually quiet. This is Hermione, a voice of young boy from the past reminds me, she means no harm. She was your good friend.

Standing next to the fireplace I speak to her before she presses the door handle, my voice is soft and laced with sentiment I cannot fully suppress:" Granger, if you need to discuss anything work related, I will be more than happy to help. You know how much I have lost, mainly thanks to help you have given Ginny, but I will not let it interfere with my job. Have a nice day, Secretary, and tell Terry that I say hello." She is swallowed by the darkness created through magical reshuffling of the houses. One cannot risk discovery of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, not even in these peaceful times.

"Kreacher?" He immediately pops behind me.  
"Master wishes?"  
"We will drink tonight, together." He blinks and I observe with certain kind of dread as large tears start falling from his large eyes.  
"Master is most kind; Kreacher will have some Butterbeer and some firewhisky for Master." I nod gracefully. Tonight I shall drink away my scruples and sentiments, my only companion being the last shreds of sorrow and a scruffy old house elf.

* * *

Hermione Granger apparated as soon as she was outside, landing near International apparition spot. Small company was already waiting for her in magical variant of the cabinet chamber. She quickly undressed her heavy overcoat and sat down.

"Hermione, how went the visit of our mutual friend? Is he well?" Arthur's eyes are reflecting the fairy lights floating randomly in the space of the room. "Will he work with us?"

The bushy-haired Head of the Deparment for Environmental Problems and Magical Minorities grimaces a bit. The late sessions of the Department are always informal and amiable.

"I don't think so Arthur, he practically threw me out as soon as he returned. Gave me a good tongue-lashing too. He looked terribly tired and angry." She bit her lip. "There is something terrifying about him too as if he was carrying around some sort of power. His knowledge of laws seems to be more than sufficient. It seems that he acquired taste for blood purity..." There is a heavy sigh escaping the young woman.

"Madame Marbles what is your opinion?" Minister turns to the old lady who is sipping hot chocolate from her cup and leaves it hovering in the air as she sits more upright.

"I am not sure what to think about it. He works hard and any Chief would welcome such an employee, but I agree with Secretary Granger that there is something off about the boy. He insists on working for administration even though his skills could be utilized in more creative and much better paid jobs." She falls silent and reaches out for the abandoned cup.

"Yet, he wanted to have a seat here in any Department," says Arthur Weasley.  
"What? Did he tell you anything?" Ahvar Patil nearly screames, obviously outraged.  
"Not in so many words, but his posture told me he wants to get in badly."  
"That is a shame," rasps Davis- the new Head of Exchequer. His comment is met by series of snickers.

"Well, until he enters marital union he cannot even think about moving up. Our people may want modern government, but they still insist that those who govern them have a good sense of family. I would not be too much afraid in this case. Harry is a compassionate boy and since there is no love interest at the moment we may safely assume that we have plenty of time. DMLE will start with their investigation and we will see later. Am I correct, Director Savage?"  
"Absolutely Minister, Potter will be kept on a tight leash."

Hermione looks outraged for a moment, thwarting someone capable goes against everything she believes in, but to preserve the peace... She remains silent.

"Brilliant," The Minister smiles," Now to the more important and pressing matters." He turns to the Indian man. "Ahvar, I suppose we shall start with the Gringott's review of our financial situation and what their foreign branches think about the situation of our finances..."

* * *

If there is one maxim I have to stress in life as well as in politics it is "Trust no one!" and abide by it. It is not the paranoia as you may or may not think. It is the driving force that compels me, Harry Potter, to reach further and further in my aims without being hindered by incompetence or intrigues of others. My former Master was a bit too pureblood orientated, but his help was priceless. I need no more crash courses about behaviour or such simple things as dance. For example, the one I enjoy right now. Just imagine a grand Empire style building, full of important and unimportant people. Big business, politicians, grand families, foreigners- all of them are here tonight to celebrate the election of Arthur Weasley. I smile; you know that I cannot stand the man. He is a very sloppy liar who thinks that being swamped in sea of work makes me unable to stretch my wings.

Magic is incredible. Muggles have their filth and sweat, their technologies full of dust, but we... we have our fantasies. How else can an old cynic like me admire all of this? There is nothing more colourful than man's imagination, nor more dangerous.

"Lord Potter-Black, why are you not dancing? We must amend this!" I admit the title is a nice perk and rings well. I let the lady take me to the dangerous waters; sharks are represented by these young and older scheming creatures, clad into seductively winking frilly robes and floating in an endless sea of lace. After straightforward women of Venice, I think I can accept this different kind of entertainment. Be careful though, one must not forget his goal. No pleasure and no regret in the world will make me change my mind. I hope you know that.

"Susan, you should know that I am not overly fond of dancing." She laughs prettily and leads me to the place where we can swirl and speak with a shred of privacy.

"You know that you should be more receptive to the lady's advances, all that reservation doesn't fit the Boy-Who-Done-A-Runner." I sneer at her, not quite sure why it always earns me a playful swat, and trust me; no red-blooded male would willingly miss such a grievous attack inflicted upon him by the Bones heiress.  
"They should be richer, lovely lady. Then perhaps I could profess something for them. As it stands now, I've yet to see a true woman." She pouts with her adorable lips. It is rigidity that binds my blood so terribly eager to flood certain place and leave others, my brain for example.

"A relationship is not something I am looking for at the moment," I reply as usual. You may hear that my voice is not even trembling as I lie and I refuse to rub my nose or show any other sign that what comes out of my mouth are not my true intentions. You may think whatever you like.

She presses against me, all those delightful curves squishing into my frame. Dance music is slowing down. I would prefer something more classical with less amount of bodily contact. I need my wits about me.  
"You are very naughty Miss Bones," I admonish her with mock glare added for a good measure and wiggle my finger at her. She laughs heartily, squeezing my hand the whole time.

"And you, Mr. Potter, are not very honest with me." She leans her head to my ear. Is that sense of impending dread in my stomach?  
"Don't worry I won't tell." I feel my mind screaming. It is terrible, you know, the fact that someone has somehow managed to get it, even though it is one of the most obvious of my secrets.

"It brings me a great deal of comfort, Sue. Shall we dance some more?" I suggest and we once again glide over the surface of what seems to be an enchanted frozen lake. It gives the place a not very subtle reminder of the impeding winter. For a moment I allow my brain to shut off. Yes, I know you remember that this is always the precise minute when something bad happens. I wait for it, just like you.

Nothing, I just fly with pretty witch in my arms and don't think of tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter characters, books etc. in any way... J. K. Rowling does and I simply use her world for a bit of storytelling.

Thank you for your warm reception. Reviews are appreciated. Please, don´t hesitate to give any feedback.

* * *

 **Chapter III: In the Firelight**

I awake with a frown. I am in an unfamiliar bed with an unfamiliar row of portraits looking down on me. Bugger. I truly Am unrepentant and irredeemable in my ways. Her red hair stretches over the pillows in a beautiful halo, her face unmarred by the previous night. Some part of me wants to stay desperately and that is why I have to leave. I must go before it is too late. I manage to grab what I came for. Goodbye sweet girl. There is work to be done and time waits for no man.

* * *

Jovial smiles, waving hand and my trademark messy hair- that is how a proper Undersecretary welcomes the vultures that are here to gnaw on some flesh and bone. All in good sport.

"Good morning to you all! The Ministry asked me to apologise for the fact that I have woken you up so early, but what sort of news hounds would you be if the information was not your priority?" They laugh and I feel the uneasiness from public speaking slowly slipping away. "I did not invite you from some personal whim as some of you may think." I land another direct hit right into their humorous brain cells. They offer me polite smiles, but no apologies-perish the thought!

"We in the Department of Magical Games and Sports were given a task that finally brings to our population a sport that the greater majority of the world is already enjoying and... a unique place where we all can experience it first-hand. I move my wand and murmur:" Specialis Revelio." The massive table standing next to me is instantly animated and starts showing miniature three-dimensional picture of a grand building. I tune out an unpleasant sound of hundreds of quills scratching on various surfaces. Profit, profit, and profit- everything is about money in the end... That sounds awful, don't you think? Well, awful for some.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to our Merlin's Stadium: the first permanent national magical sports center in the world." They are scribbling into their small notepads so very fast that you can imagine the heat that the poor parchment is forced to endure.

"It will be used to host not only the finals of the Quidditch League, but also our new Broom Racing League and become the only Ministry approved place to officially compete in this sport." They are eager like bunch of schoolgirls who never has had a hand up their knickers; I guess all that energy ought to go somewhere. Yes, I am very aware of the fact that I've grown old. It sometimes feels a bit difficult to bear, but the faces I can pull off... They are still a marvel to behold.

"The Ministry will ensure that the building is complete within next few weeks, as soon as we get Gringott's approval for the loan. The financial side of the project may not be completely clear at this moment, but I am quite certain that everything will turn out for the best and we will all enjoy ourselves in the very near future." Clear and easy answer, that is what they get, and if they are not stupid, they already are sniffing around my hint.

"We have great plans about the focus the MGS Department in the future years and I hope this will be the first step on a long road to increase the interest in sport." Games and bread are one of the few combinations that works nearly every time it is successfully. It took me a few days before I realised what possibilities this position entailed. It took all time to calm my rage. That and a few broken vases. No, I am lying once again. More than just few. I must focus now, you understand. They need my hundred percent.

I smile once more.

"Now is the time for me to answer your questions, please be as brief as possible in order to satisfy you apparent hunger. Thank you."

"Sir, Harold Merle-WizBus, what is the period of return of the investment for this...venture?"

"The Department of Exchequer´s data suggest that we will be in black in three years. Figures for that are taken from various statistical surveys we had done in few last years by independent assessors. My predecessor kept very good records and thanks to that I am able to continue in his work without the need for any massive review or any nonsense like that. " I wave with my hand dismissively to assure them about the minor nature of obstacles that stand in way of the project.

"Alesia Morrigan- Owl Watch, what is the limit capacity of the stadium?"

"There is none. To be more precise, we can expand the space however we want, so theoretically it can hold infinite number of spectators." You can hear excited murmuring.

"Luna Lovegood-Weasley- Quibbler, is it true that all the fuss is just to cover up Ministry's financial problems and row with Gringott's?" The golden stocks falling down, creditors getting angry, few smaller companies going bankrupt- that is the effect of this dreamily pronounced statement and there is no one who would have been able to do it with so much grace. This should have been Rita's question, you loony girl. I am very impressed indeed.

"I am sorry Miss Lovegood but that is not something I can confirm."

"Then you can come for dinner instead, Harry. Ron and I would be very happy." There are certain prerequisites for the symbiosis between politicians and journalists. They don't get too personal and we won't count them in when we get back into office. They will still have a place to work in. Well, I think being Luna Lovegood explains a lot of things.

"Thank you for the offer Miss Lovegood and I am certain that a fine bowl of hot soup would do a world of good to my protesting stomach." Some of them laugh. I see a flash of green. Good, we may start.

"Rita Skeeter- Daily Prophet, Mr. Potter, do you confirm or deny the rumours that you are here to avert the eyes of public from potential financial disaster, using you fame for that single purpose? Are we lied to by government? Do you want the top job after being awarded what many would consider a subpar position?

"Dear Ms. Skeeter, rumours are everywhere and it would be very wrong to assume that any of them is more than a puff against the wind. I can only say that the MGS department intends to expand and this is our vision and we intend to fulfil it. Concerning my post, it would be quite arrogant of me to go against my own boss to whom I owe it. This is what I do and I intend to give it all I have. That would be all. Thank you." They are holding up their notepads, but I have no intention to answer any further questions. All they will remember will be that Harry Potter had been humbled and something about financing. Good, stadium will be there to soothe their worries. I know what people want and how they think. You do not presume me too arrogant, do you?

"Photos," someone from the crowd demands. I give them this round- any publicity is good publicity and I grudgingly admit that it is needed at this point in my career. Contrary to the popular belief, Wizarding cameras don't use flash, it has to do something with the manufacturer and shabby deals that are nearly omnipresent at hearts of our nicotine political club rooms. We have magic for Merlin's sake.

As I enter the grand building, where I work, I can see a very persistent owl trying to penetrate the wards I erected to protect my office against unwanted intrusions. It is incredibly small and its frantic movements bring back old memories.

"Pigwidgeon!" It really is the small and too familiar pet that belongs to my best friend. A big letter it carries is obviously weighting the bird down. I let it drop into my hands, use my wand to slice the envelope, take out the parchment and read:

 _Dear Harry,_

 _You are cordially invited to the Weasley Loft. Clothes are entirely optional as well as any swimwear and magical pets. We offer homemade cupcakes and onion soup. You may come any day you like, the best choice being Friday evening._

 _Looking forward to meeting you_

 _Leonine, Rose, Frederick, Luna and Ronald_

The parchment is pink and it smells like a woman. Luna seems as batty as usual and I am really curious. I suppose one evening cannot be that much of a waste. I pin small, hyperactive owl with a sticky charm to the wall, simply to prevent any harm that it could inflict to itself by the endless excited flitting around.

I don't want to be too much of a formal prick. Ron would not understand and Luna would not care. I hastily scribble a short positive reply and free the small animal. It takes off almost at once. Some work to finish and then my friends? Then I'll have a good night's sleep. Friday is not here yet.

* * *

There is a large difference between Muggle's and Wizard's perception of the world. We live at a slower pace and I absolutely loathe the fact that some over-sensitive fool tried to bring the mobile telephones and charm them to work. They just won't and anyone who understands enough magic to take a rabbit out of a hat can see that. Unfortunately, some think that it would change our society into something better, faster, cleaner... As if Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes advertisements were not enough. Sometimes, the road to hell is nothing but good intentions.

* * *

I bought a rabbit. One simply cannot call on his best friends without a proper gift for their offspring. The monstrous herbivore bit me two times and I was forced to stun it and conjure a large box that contained the animal for those few unpleasant moments that travel by floo usually takes.

"Harry!" After being turned all around amidst the swirling flames, my legs are a bit wobbly. I nearly don't recognize the young man that hugs me as if it were something completely normal. "Luna, hellions, he's here!" I feel anxiousness seep all through my core. I am no longer accustomed to deal with honest people. He leads me to a large space that resembles kitchen and drawing room put together. Try to imagine a large green dome made of glass and held up by massive tree branches. Even the rug seems to be alive and I nearly drop the gift when it tickles my ankles.

There is a loud cracking noise and you can see a young woman running towards me with three children in tow. She seems radiantly happy and her demeanour is completely different from the sharp reporter I have met.

"It is good that you have come, Harry. I was just telling Ronald how badly we need someone experienced with Arithmancy when you flooed in." The man in question is staring at his wife with one of the most adoring looks I've ever had the displeasure to encounter. Two small and heavily freckled children are a bit shy and hide themselves in their mother's skirt. The third one- a lively toddler is shrieking excitedly.

They let me sit down on the veranda from where we can watch a beautiful play of fairies skimming on the surface of the river. Ron brings wine; everything changes so quickly, even my best mate.

"Don't make those faces Harry," he chuckles, "it will stick." Oh, can we observe the woman's hand in this?

I chuckle and turn to him.

"Hey, I could have expected virtually anything, but Ronald Weasley drinking fine wines and watching sunset at the river Severn, all of that while being actually interested in what he does, is something I will have to process for quite some time." His expression turns serious for a moment and as he hugs me once again, I can feel the sticky sensation caused by his tears. Then he lands the first punch. His absolutely crazy wife apparently approves, because as I go down to my knees she smiles with understanding. "Men," her teeth are bared as she silently laughs at our silliness, but there is no female companion for her, to share this eternal knowledge with.

The next hit nearly takes me down. I ignore the warning bells in my head; this is Ron, thick-headed, ginger-haired moron I think I knew once. Nothing makes sense anymore. Past stands as my future and both intermingle into that terrifying mess we call events. There is only one right direction I can follow in this matter- I spit and laugh. Hug the bastard and pretend for a moment, no one will get hurt and perhaps I'll be rewarded with some smiles, true ones this time.

"You've got old Ron, but you are still a git though." I am given a mock glare.

"Old? Do I seem old to you? We are not even thirty, for Merlin's sake!"

"I cannot hear you," I beckon to him, "come little closer." He does what I say. Simple and complete trust, how refreshing! He pays for it when I use my right hook and send him tumbling through the entrance door. He growls and launches himself at me... Unfortunately, we are interrupted in the middle of what I would call a good-natured brawl when a high-pitched voice squeaks: "I is here to inform you that Mistress Luna is serving dinner." We jump up from the ground and shake hands to dutifully follow a very peculiar house elf through the hall and grand dome right to a big oaken table that is full of food- Weasley style. There is a lot of laughter and spilt milk.

I don't like cuddly and fluffy things; come to think of it, I don't really like animals or children. It would perhaps be more prudent to list things I am keen of. Yes, that would be less time-consuming.

Why Am I talking about this? Simply because a small girl of three is sitting on my knee and my newfound old friends are encouraging me to play a plane game to get her eat. Do you know how utterly embarrassing it is?

"Unca Harry, why are your eyes so green," asks me one of the little devils, courtesy of Luna's parenting style.

"Mommy says that the Fizbees are painting them every night, so they won't be like those we have," replies the oldest one, Leonine, wisely. She is of the same wispy, willowy constitution as her mother and you can see her budding interest in the unknown by the distinctive glasses with bat motive she wears.

"So Harry," Ron interrupts silence that fell after we started seriously eating, instead of playing with vegetables, "What are you up to? I heard that we are going to have a broom racing stadium. Damn shame that Cannons won't play finals in that nice golden cage."

"I would say more of a golden parachute, but one must be careful; your wife is the sharpest journalist in Britain, ever since Rita Skeeter was forced to write only absolute truth." He smiles fondly and they share an otherworldly moment. It is clear that they forget, from time to time, that their honeymoon ended a few years ago. Fortunately, I am not a good person to be asked to supervise the 'hellions', thus I won't have to resolve to earplugs when these two want to have free evening to resolve some 'marital tension'.

"So, I see that land is good and life is too." Ron holds his mug with butterbeer up and high.

"Thank Merlin that my mate finally visited us!" He gives a short and honest toast. I join in and soon we are all laughing. I must pretend of course, but that is beside the point- I am permanently in a state of pretense; it is something all aspiring politicians must be at least adepts in.

When children are tucked in, and Mr. Pickles (the blasted rabbit with a sweet tooth) is resting in his new home, we adults sit down by the fireplace to speak some more.

"You left too soon Harry. You should have known that I would not turn my back on you ever again. It took me nearly hour of banging on the Grimmauld Place's doors to realize that you were gone." There is something about married people that makes them synchronize better, or perhaps I am reading too much into it. Luna continues.

"Ronald practically broke down and it took a lot of effort to calm him down." I couldn't believe that my old friend would take this show of his own vulnerability lightly. I expect at least a look of hurt. Instead, he squeezes her hand in assurance.

"We had sex, of course. So when Ginny arrived with her poor boyfriend, Ron threw them out and took his branch from the Burrow's family tree- he is such an adventurer sometimes." She completely blanks out with that trademark dreamy smile of hers. I cannot help but think that all she says seems to have a double meaning.

"He told me that we were to go away, so we just moved in and immediately started working on Leonina." I do not have even the slightest desire to cough. That woman is mad as a Hatter, albeit a sexy one. Just a stray thought from my younger years. They kiss, again.

It is a pleasant evening, passing with the turn of large moonlight clocks. I am weary, but sated in a way I have never come to know. Resting here, inside of a family is something magical.

Firelight is warming my legs and I found myself gazing into that glowing pit, fascinated by the movement of coal and red swirling flames. It feels painfully as home. As you can see, I do not belong in here and when it's already after the time I was supposed to leave, I am given two hugs and open invitation for the future.

I apparate away, the real world will not wait for me.

* * *

There is a meeting and several people waiting for me. I despise certain sort of games. I do not have patience for them, or perhaps it is the talent that I lack. Simply put, pureblood obsession with breeding disgusts me.

The Greengrasses are good sort of people by several standards. They are obscenely rich, connected to a good pureblood family in way of marriage. Yes, Astoria married Draco some years ago, but I decided long before my return to count that on the positive side of the sheet. It leaves me with the better option.

"Daphne, it is my pleasure." She is a tall woman and seems almost akin to a living statue whose beauty is cruelly preserved for ever. She is also my first choice.

Not because of blood, it is much more simple than that. I am just after her money.

"Harry Potter," she points at a gaunt man and a beautiful blonde woman," meet my parents."

"It is a pleasure Lord and Lady Greengrass. I have brought the gifts prepared in my household." They inspect the items with curiosity. Somehow I cannot sense any malice. I kiss Daphne´s hand. The etiquette has to be observed to some extent.

Yes, you are wondering how we ended up in this position. The answer is quite simple- I need them and they desperately need me. Having a daughter closing on her thirties and still unmarried is very embarrassing for any Pureblood. They reached out to me you see.

A little over a year ago. You didn´t think I came simply to answer Arthur´s friendly summons?

"Potter," oh, so it is the Patriarch who shall have the final word. "I want there to be no confusion. This is not charity. We know how badly off your finances are and we do not care." I hold up my hand.

"Sir, you would be mistaken that I am going into this simply for money. I could have charmed any witch, there is nothing remarkable about your daughter." They laugh. You see, to get what you want you first need to lower the price. It is a matter of principle.

"You are a funny many, Mr. Potter. Funny man indeed." It seems that the sense of humour in the family has its source inside Apolline Greeengrass´ bosom. "We all know that you are too destitute to be even able to afford a look at our daughter, let alone a life-long commitment." I smile also. It seems that my facial muscles shall be for ever stuck.

"Well, I have what you desire most, my friends. I have the last living memory of Amelia Bones." That gets their attention very quickly. It seems that my instinct was right. I imagine that it brings certain amount of pleasure to witness the last moments of your life-long bitter rival. It must be enthralling to see a fall of something that stood against you for so long. You did not think I slept with Susie just for her pleasant attitude and big breasts, did you? Memory extraction is like dreaming, painless and without consequences- most of time.

"How long has it been, my dear Appoline, John. Twenty years of being upstaged? Twenty long years of coming second in the Chamber of Wizengamot? I wonder whether it is your failure or her success that brings out the green inside your eyes." The table groans a little and the air is charged with ozone. Strong accidental magic crackles around our little troupe.

I grin evilly. "It will be yours if you honour our agreement- the hand of your daughter for the Pensieve memory. Sounds about appropriate, wouldn´t you say?" They are struck silent. Their daughter is smirking slightly, her red lips moving like a strange animal. I find it unnerving. For others sake, of course. I do not get flustered.

They don´t contemplate the offer for too long. I don´t even manage to bite into the chocolate cake when Mr Greengrass announces loudly: "How can we verify that the item is genuine?"

I finish the slice of brown goodness before I speak. Life is the little things.

"I am prepared to swear a Wizard´s Oath on my life and magic." My wand appears instantly in my hand, its tip glowing. They seem to be pleasantly surprised by both the magical display and my announcement. Their impatience will not let them keep me in suspense.

"You may proceed then, Lord Potter-Black." Apolline is as shrewd as ever. The words are quickly spoken and I feel the warmth of the magical contract being sealed. Their side will give me their daughter´s hand, the dowry and they get their heart´s desire. Wait! Our work is not yet done, my patient friend. Yes, I am speaking to you. There is one small addition to make. I must be direct with them.

"When I received your letter, concerning the other item from Black family vault, I was in a different situation. I will give the memory up as a sign of good faith, but there is something I want you to add to our deal. Call it a wedding gift or whatever you like. Call it a favour." They seem perplexed. The deal has been sealed already.

"I am listening, Mr Potter. Only with great reluctance as our agreement has been finalised. Hopefully, in the future, it will be my daughter who will have to suffer your ever-changing mind." John is impatient as well as I am.

"I need the first thing you lay your eyes on when you come home." His eyes widen in recognition.

"Why would you want an old map, Potter." I smile again.

"Harry, please. As for the reason, "father," I simply love geography and as an aficionado this piece is necessary for the completion of my collection." He will spend several days inspecting it, but for a man like him it represents nothing of value. He will find nothing amiss. "Do we have a deal?"

We shake hands and they get up to leave. You must have noticed that I had no time to exchange any words with their daughter. No need to be concerned, there will be plenty of time when we are bound. I said that the birth of a child was important, the rest is simply fluff and I am almost out of time.

Her lips curl into a cruel smile. She leans over. "I knew you would need us, my betrothed." She kisses me forcefully as her family looks on approvingly. I watch them go.

There is a shiver of wrongness making way down my spine. I belong to her now. I belong to everyone but myself.

I use my handkerchief to wipe her taste away, but why does it linger so pleasantly?

"Waiter," I wave at the man," I would like to pay for the food." He seems surprised and incredibly confused. "But sir, the food has already been paid for." Wonderful. I feel my control slipping away. What to do?

* * *

I owe no favours, I have no creditors- This is the law of the world- weak and indebted shall pay for their foolishness. Now, I had to break that rule.

It must come as no surprise that you can see me outside the Gringott's. I am here on behalf of the Ministry; of course, none of those bureaucratic clowns knows anything.

I pass through the golden gate and Am given a scrutinizing look by one of the guards.

"Lord Potter-Black of Wizegamot, I am here to speak with Tribal Chief Gladrag." I let the minions to scatter and patiently wait in the golden lobby with those boring red carpets. The goblin I am about to meet is the biggest bastard of them all. This creature has everyone whom he pays to be assassinated written down as an 'outsourcing expenses' in his account books. I clap with a cane I conjured prior to the entry into this institution. People always get nervous if they think that someone, who they consider as important figure, is impatient from all that waiting they put him through.

"Chief will meet you, lordaye." He bows shallowly, his eyes gleaming.

Four heavily armed guards, who are grinning as if Christmas came early this year, escort me. I believe this is the point I should call for my mother. Shame that she is dead and I was on a toilet already, I hate to disappoint.

If you wondered why goblins have never ruled wizards, this is the place where you can find your answer. Golden walls and red carpet, really, it is all about imagination and adaptability. Yes, some of us are spineless bastards who turn with every wind. We wizards tend to understand the need for restraint. Shackles are always forged by one´s own hand. Did I say we understand how to hold back? Well, the best of us do. The rest is simply history.

"Lordaye Potter-Black, welcome to the Gringott's bank."

"Chief Gladrag, may you gold multiply and bring you profit." The obligatory greeting is a bare necessity in this situation.

"Please, sit down." Gladrag motions to the armchair.

"Coffee, tea, Gresknah's firewhisky?" The offer would seem sincere if the drink did not contain a very aggressive mild acid. Harmless for the creature sitting opposite me, but deadly for my tired stomach.

"Nothing, thank you." There is nothing insulting in refusing a drink from a goblin. Quite the opposite- they find people who accept them, without checking for poison, incredibly foolish. That would not help my position.

"I'll have some, if you don't mind. I don't really like to deal with all this paperwork you Ministry types bring in." The distaste drips from every syllable.

"I am afraid you have me at the disadvantage, Chief Gladrag; I bring no documents for you." He measures me up, suspicion clearly written in his wrinkly face.

"What do you want then, human? I don't have any time for those games you play at that marble building of yours."

"I am here to confirm some information and get updates on the loan approval process for the Merlin's stadium."

I will not bore you out of your mind with necessary financial terms and take us right to the moment I sought for. Thirty minutes into our talk the situation is very clear. Someone has been borrowing quite excessively and the interest rates on these loans are quickly growing. Gringott's are not as naïve as I was led to believe. They will soon hold the government under their white-collared necks.

"So they have some problems with balancing this year's budget?"

"You know I cannot say anything concrete, Undersecretary. It is one of our policies not to meddle in affairs of wizards and you are not from the Exchequer." I smile reassuringly; I don't think that goblins understand facial expressions. They can lie a lot though.

"Let me rephrase it this way, should we be a bit worried about the future of our investments into government bonds and what would happen should this distressing uncertainty come to light?"

Gladrag gives me a very terrifying smile.

"Well, it would certainly be something to talk about. Something interesting..."

We both start grinning as we shake hands. You should know by now that is not a good sign for me to grin. The creature wants havoc. He wants dogs of chaos to fall upon us, yet he fails to see a great hammer behind my back. Goblins don't have any imagination. I can nearly smell the smouldering ashes. Almost.

* * *

"Something rotten in the state of Ministry affairs? Ministry employee leaks crucial information in an effort to 'take out the trash'? What in the Merlin's name are they playing at? Rogerson!" The Chief Speaker looks at the Minister with fear; I fail to see why.

"I thought that Daily Prophet were supposed to be our people! What the bloody hell is this! This is impossible! I will not tolerate such disobedience! The polls are showing us a twenty percent behind the Opposition. If we do nothing, we will get stuffed in the next elections which are just six months away! How can I work when I am constantly disrupted by continuous breach of faith, even amongst those that are supposed to be our most trusted allies? I want the bastards who leaked the information to be caught! I want to see them hanged!" The usually mild-mannered Mr. Weasley is red-faced as he shouts around at the members of his Cabinet. What a show of excellent leadership! Surprised that I can speak now? Well, it is someone from my department that leaked the information and I am Undersecretary after all.

"Arthur, you shouldn't worry. We will wait and assess the situation..." Rogerson is trying to appease our tomato-coloured leader.

"Assess the situation? That is you advice? May I kindly remind you that we are facing a disaster? We must find this mole before someone gets the hunch about our real financial problems! Anyone else has similarly good advice?" It is the day, the hour, almost the moment. Can you feel it? I mean the opportunity that is passing so conveniently just within the reach.

"Minister, if I may be so bold..." Everyone is staring quite intently, as if they were stricken by lightning. He is probably tired from these knavish bastards he has to listen to every day.

"Mister Potter the economic issue we discuss here are very complex and I don't think that..." Mr. Weasley interrupts Davis' preaching spiel: "I believe that after so many hours of useless proposals from some of you Undersecretary Potter will have something interesting to say." You can almost hear the 'or', what a frightful and spineless creature that man is. Well, people always get the government they deserve.

"Minister I think we should take a different route. I think we should seize the Gringott's and accuse the Goblins from attempts to topple the wizarding government with intention to start another rebellion. No one really likes the buggers and their treacherous and violent nature is something we may easily exploit." I throw him a bone and wait for a shower.

"That is completely outrageous Undersecretary. Ruthless, unlawful, immoral and..." The shout belongs to her.

"Damn effective, Secretary Granger. I took the liberty of drafting a plan. Such an action would ensure good enough publicity for the government. You would be seen as a government that is firm and strong and it would help to solve our economic 'issues'." I push forward a green envelope while the bushy-haired Know-It-All is mumbling something about barbarians.

They don't like it. I never thought they would. You can see the dawning realisation in their faces. They maybe finally know that I am the threat. You can see their gazes flying around like a flock of crows, looking for the corpse of a mangled cow.

"We cannot do this... They would lock themselves in... It would mean a long and bloody war. Everyone's savings would be threatened and golden stocks would plummet down. We would be bankrupt!" Minister is nearly hysterical.

Granger seems satisfied and since I don't suppose that it is from diddling her sissy husband. I must concur that she believes me beaten.

"That is not entirely true, Minister. You could always issue a bonding statement that would guarantee the savings by a statute made by the government." It takes another three hours before they see something positive about my plan. Of course they go only half-way. One doesn't want to appear too decisive; it positively reeks of competence.

"I think that we all agree that this plan has some merit." You can hear the reluctant mumbling of acknowledgment.

"The problem lies with its extreme execution." Really, timid too much?

"We can reach the same if we try to press Gringott's politically." There is nothing to be said. It is time for me to abandon ship. You maybe wonder why I didn't try to warn them. Well, my intention is to set the government and Wizengamot into deadly hate, one against the other and if Arthur is so good and straightforward as I am devious and unmerciful I shall soon reap the fruit of my endeavours.

The meeting ends and everyone slowly leaves the chamber. I ignore Granger's angry looks and pretend to search through my briefcase. She leaves in a huff and Iam left alone with the sweating Minister who is apparently waiting for me. I seal the file with a simple spell, one I invented myself, as it serves its purpose, for now. Maybe the man just wants to deliver the long-awaited apologies. No, I am not that naive.

"That was very interesting thing you showed us, Harry." This is the last time I allow him to exchange any pleasantries with me. No, that is my impatience talking-there will be many more putdowns in the future.

"Sir, I don't think you fully understand how this plan works, sir." He blinks, apparently surprised by what must seem, from his point of view, as a sudden and unexpected honesty, or cheek.

"Surely you cannot be that vexed about our little changes in your plan. It is thing you deserve full credit for." Is he that blind? He is walking right into the biggest disaster of his reign.

"It is not that, sir. I don't believe that with such a compromise we can arrive to a conclusion that is satisfying for us."

"It will turn out all right in the end, my boy. Splendid job as I said, splendid job indeed." There is nothing more to be said. We shake hands.

"Thank you, sir." I leave for the door.

"One more thing." What could he want? I have no time for any more foolishness, I mus….

"Can I count on your support in the Wizengamot, Harry?" Oh, sometimes the reality is simply wonderful.

"Completely, sir, I firmly stand behind you and this government." I give him an encouraging grin. The old man smiles back.

As if- but one cannot always tell everything he wants. I have my wand prepared. Still, time is something of a luxury. But most important things first: Can you hear the wedding bells? No, I suppose not. Well, you should.

Marriage is a good thing- good for some.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter characters, books etc. in any way... J. K. Rowling does and I simply use her world for a bit of storytelling.**

 **AN: Thank you for all your reviews and apologies for the long wait.**

* * *

 **Chapter IV: Of Sentimental Electric Socket Collectors, Rooks and of the Past**

Behold! The Muggle camera! Nothing new, is it? Yes, a simple bauble we use to amuse ourselves and ease the passage of time. Let us add the movement, sprinkle a few more surprises and we Wizards can feel a little better about our superiority!

However, what if we can no longer stop this threat? What if the scale of obliviations no longer matters? The world and the use of cameras grows too massive to control. I spoke of our recklessness once. Do you recall? Now every Muggle has lenses through which he can record history and a thing called website where all the masterpieces can be shared and remain the matter of public record forever. How do you prevent a disaster? The answer is- you embrace it.

This year we have ran out of time. The number in my calendar is 2006.

* * *

The Prime Minister sits in a comfortable chair in his office, waiting. It has been nearly ten years since his party won the general election and effectively dominated the British politics ever since. His second term is slowly ending with the general election just around the corner and, as is always the case in politics, he needs something to boost his party's preferences. The opposition is noisy and pestering at this time in the office, but it is all worth it. Yes, it is nice to be the one wielding the power. Still, the country is behaving like a creaky iron maiden made of the metal so rusty that it is truly a miracle to see it still holding together. It is time to stir the pot. To catch attention of media and get some job done.

There is a silent whoosh as the fireplace comes alive with green-coloured flames. His years in office taught him not to be too quick to rise. One might get his forehead injured. A short man jumps out, long robes flying around. He dusts himself off and offers his right hand to the Prime Minister who is patiently waiting behind his oaken table. Their handshake is short, firm and honest.

"Arthur, how good to see you! How is my Minister for Magic doing?" The leader of the British Government motions to an empty armchair.

"We will get to that soon, Prime Minister. Just let me catch my breath." It seems that the wizard is tired, his eyes speak for themselves. He sits down with a thud.

"May I offer you something- whiskey, gin?" It is always polite to accommodate the guest and get as much information as possible.

"If you would find some cherry, I know it´s the old lady´s drink, but I prefer it at times like these." An audible pop can be heard after the man struggles with the old bottle for a moment. It finally gives in and the liquid is slowly poured into crystal glass.

"Thank you, Prime Minister." Arthur Weasley looks very grateful as he takes careful sips.

"So, has anything changed since our last debate." The redhead´s face turns into an instant scowl. He carefully puts the glass down.

"Harry Potter has returned." Minister Weasley´s voice is raspy and his Muggle superior recognises the advanced signs of mild anger. He can easily tell his mood by the colour of the man´s ears. The ease with which he can read him like an open book is completely different from his dark-skinned predecessor.

"The boy. He is back then." It is a statement, not even a bit of hesitation is present. Prime Ministers must deal with reality after all.

"Yes, unannounced and changed." The reply is no less blunt.

"Really? How does this change manifest itself?" Any question from the Prime Minister sounds akin to a command. It´s how he likes it. The jovial request for everyone to call him by his given name does nothing to diminish his presence.

"He is simply different, driven would perhaps be the best word. He is becoming quite a liability, playing his little tricks."

"But I thought that he was your saviour? Is this metamorphosis caused by that unfortunate accident?" Prime Minister feels that he need to grasp his own understanding of the matter.

"Your predecessor was very vague about the whole affair. I believe there was a young lady involved." He adds and dangles the chance for Mr. Wasley to prove himself as he is oft eager to do. He does not disappoint.

"Yes, the woman in question was my own daughter- Ginevra. They were supposed to marry and had the whole world before them. His standing as a war hero had taken most of the damage."

"What happened?" Arthur seems to be uncomfortable.

"Her short temper drove him away. We had to cover it as best as we could, but to no avail." It is apparent that the line of questioning is uncomfortable for his Minister.

"Why did he return, then? According to information you have given me throughout our long mutual cooperation he has nothing binding him to these isles."

"I like to think that it was on my invitation. He was like a son to me. You see, I knew James and Lily, his parents. They were delightful young people who fought alongside me in the first war. Our families were members of the Order of Phoenix."

"The secret organization you mentioned last time?" It is one of the last pieces of Prime Minister needs to obtain from Arthur to finally finish a jigsaw of that fabled wizarding war. Mr Weasley is usually very economical with any information about the Order.

"Precisely."

"Had Potter been a member before the break between you happened?

"No, Harry Potter was too young to be admitted and then; it was too late. We were already too deep in the war and when we realised his role…Well, there was no point making him a member when he led us to that battle."

"You think him dangerous, Arthur? "

"To an extent. There is no real harm he can do- he is just one man after all. He may go sobbing to the press. The only problem might arise from his lack of control. I liked him much better as a teenager. No use to cry over the spilt milk." There is some fondness in Arthur´s expression as he cradles the glass tighter.

"Can you contain him if he ever becomes a threat of cooperation between our two worlds?"

"Yes, I can easily silence him. However, why would I do that when he does his job so proficiently?" The Prime Minister takes a moment, measuring the man before him. His Minister for Magic is not someone detached from reality as many of his colleagues are. He has a family, contacts and scars of war. He is also vital for the victory in the next general election. Probably even a ticket for indefinite rule. People have always loved mediators.

"How do you want to do it?" There is not even a hint of curiosity in the man's voice.

"I will let him crack by himself. He is, after all, a man of terrible temper. He can try to hide it, but I know him well. No one can change that much. Oh, I have nearly forgotten- he wanted to be in my cabinet." The lifted eyebrows of the man behind the table are indicating his amusement.

"He started courting Greengrass heiress because of it."

"Greengrass?" There is a frown on Prime Minister's face, one that belongs to man who just had received information he is not sure where to place.

"She is a little flower, daughter of Lord John Bartholomew Greengrass."

"I've never heard of him. Is he one of the Tory crowd?" Voice of the national leader is laced with superiority of a person who has certain advantage in knowledge.

"Tory?" Now it is Mr. Weasley who is unsure.

"That is the party that opposes my Government. Bunch of old stuffed up white men." The Prime Minister always felt baffled by the lack of knowledge that his Minister displays every time they delve into the matters of Mundane world.

"Oh, I sometimes forget to mention the little details. No, he is not member of your gentry, Prime Minister. Wizards are not connected with Muggle political elite. He owns 100% of Pagnol, a wandmaking business conglomerate. He very nearly controls the entire industry. With Ollivander gone, the quality had gone to hell and worse. No self-respecting English wizard would ever buy a foreign wand. Black market accounts only for about 1,5% of the overall sales.

"So the Potter boy aims to obtain this woman?" Mr. Weasley laughed. "You do not obtain Greengrasses, PM. They are the most dangerous women and they cannot be controlled. The boy is up for a very rude awakening if I may say so myself."

"You are a man of vision, Arthur. You know that this boy could be dangerous to our plans." A sly look passes between them. They had already decided. No consultation will be needed as the good intentions need not to be consulted with their victims.

It will be a great day, for the whole nation to come together for the first time in the last thousand years. No more divisions. Isn't that a beautiful dream? " They shake hands and just like that the pieces have been set.

"I am looking forward to this, my friend. We will succeed- of that I am absolutely certain."

Arthur is eager to prove his worth. He looks around the room.

"That is a lovely socket you have here, PM. I must say- one collector to another. The placement on the wall is exceptionally clever. I keep mine strictly in the garage."

Both men shake hands. Great grandfather clocks booms and the distinctive chime of the Big Ben can also be heard from the distance. It was counting the time left until the end of the world.

The Prime Minister toasts to the Disraeli portrait in front of him. As he turns to the fireplace and enjoys his scotch, the hands of the former leader of the British Empire clasp together. Seconds later, the portrait looks ordinary and innocent once again.

* * *

Do you remember that nice man who talked about honesty and equality? He had to go, of course- as all dreamers must. I should give my condolences. Perhaps he should have considered keeping his mouth shut and using his brain a little more, he would have been much more timid with his ideas and laid himself low, just like my former schoolmate Terry Granger. I should not be too stingy and mean about the name. It is obvious that he is enjoying his drink. Should I get one too? I am afraid that I am rather partial to Black Indian tea, with milk.

"Terry, I am delighted to finally meet you." There is something off about theman- he behaves rather skittishly and very nearly spills his drink as he turns to see, who is speaking at him. His eyes are wide and one can nearly sense the fear. I offered my hand, carelessly, as if this meeting is nothing else but coincidence. Ministry cafeteria is not a place where you want to have any kind of conversation that bears any interesting information.

"I am sorry to intrude on your quiet moment, but I just couldn't help myself." He acknowledges me with a rather cold stare which is something that is to be expected. "I hope I didn't offend you in any way." He snorts and takes a sip from his mug before replying.

"I don't care either way, Potter. As far as I know, we have never spoken more than two sentences with each other. Tell me, what do you want?"

People are often too blunt for their own good. Doesn't he know about the subtle art of conversation?

"You are a former Ravenclaw, my dear fellow. I am sure you can figure it out for yourself." He blinks.

"It has either something to do with your tendency to speak like an old man or you want some information about my wife. The first one is neither funny nor interesting and the second topic of our supposed meeting isn't something I am willing to talk about."

I raise my hands up in a mock surrender.

"I am not your or your wife's enemy, Terry. I would appreciate you to be a bit more cordial."

He sneers at me, apparently I am not being genuine enough.

"You want me to believe that you of all the people would come to have a conversation with me, without any ulterior motives? I wasn't born yesterday, Potter."

I give him the first round. I think he deserves it

"Of course, Terry, I am aware of your progressive lifestyle, very interesting by the way."

If you want to make someone truly angry then there is only only way how to accomplish that- smile, for that is what all the liars and bastards use. I intend to poke at our dear Terry.

"Hermione is very proud of me." Very good, he is already behaving defensively. It is almost too easy.

"That she is, Terry. I never said anything that would contradict that." Some faceless young waitress brings me my tea and gives me a thousand-watt smile. I give her a tip to get rid of any unwanted attentions. I turn back to Terry.

"I just wanted to see for myself whom she married." There is the sort of angry curiosity in his eyes that I have come to expect of people. One thing is for sure- he is a good spouse and obviously loves Hermione, whether he is a husband or a wife in this relationship is something we determined already.

"Have a nice day Mr. Granger and give my congratulations to your wife." I walk away. While I would love to stay and chat mindlessly with the poor husband I have a Wizengamot meeting to attend.

* * *

"Is the Minister aware of the dire situation in the Newport constituency and the fears that recent news fuelled?"

Yes, it is Thursday, 12th of December 2006 and you can listen to the Questions to the Minister. It is not as boring as it could be and there are many opportunities for the wary.

Arthur Weasley looks tired and there is a haunted look on his face as he steps to the speaker's desk to answer. All is carried by the Wizarding Wireless Network to the ears of those that are not bored by the endless political squabbles. I love the booing, the schoolyard antics and pretend courtesy. I love it all.

"I thank the Rgt. Honourable Lord for his question that is a very dear and important to us, who have always prided ourselves as the government that listens not only to our colleagues, but the most importantly to our people." There is a short laugh from the high seats in the back- that is where the remaining purebloods sit. You may think of them as an opposition, but that would not be entirely correct. The Wizegamot Act (1999) was always a temporary measure and therefore is overused. There is no pressure to form political subjects and long period that Kingsley Shackelebolt's government stayed at place was possible only thanks to the extraordinary post-war situation. So I have to sit and wait until everyone has had their say.

Here he goes again.

"Chief Warlock, I want to assure the gentleman that the Merlin's stadium project is diligently prepared and the main construction works will start at the beginning of next year." Yes, it is a debate where the important goal is actually redirecting the questions at your opponents, and get some appraisal for the nonsense you have to spout.

The best question is almost always the most innocent one. I cannot take word, yet. It is my duty to play this charade to the end. Though I must admit that I am quite enjoying myself.

In the old times pilgrims and puritans used to damage their bodies in repentance of their supposed sins. They would take up whips, belts, ropes, thorns and drove them into their sweating skin with religious fervour, often rendering themselves unable to work for days. Why had they done it? They wanted to be heard. The hoped that someone was listening.

I Harry James Potter, Rgt. Member of Wizengamot and bearer of few other illustrious titles I never cared for, have always hoped for the same. To be a participant in the debates, to live like a human, not a dog prepared and conditioned for the slaughter in a fight with very angry white poodle. I didn't want to be hugged to death and smothered with affection

I remember my long walk to that forest, trees whispering of life and summer coming and completely unaware that the Boy-Who-Lived came into their midst to die. I couldn't shout as Voldemort's curse struck me down. Dumbledore's ramblings on that very tedious trip between life and death left me wondering- does anything I say really matter? Back then I was relieved to be alive. With the death of Tom Marvolo Riddle I was tired and free. I was also royally screwed. Why? The main driving force was gone and the mundane life slowly crept in.

The beginning of the school year 1998/1999 was very ordinary nice long ride in the big, red express train, sorting of the new students and very delicious dinner. The following weeks were marred by a sudden realization- we have changed. Maybe it was the war that tainted us and robbed of all illusions. Remember how no one tells me anything? Hermione and Ron decided that one kiss, however passionate, wasn't a solid basis for a long-term relationship and the Golden Trio was gone. Dream teams are so easy to fuck up. Sometimes, the friendship is nothing but an empty vessel you are still trying to pass up as something real. Sometimes, you just drift apart.

Do you remember when I told you at the very beginning that I was not a person you can truly trust? The reason of my seemingly nonsensical visit I paid to Hermione's young spouse had a reason. You think me too cold? Believe me, I have a heart or at least some shreds that remind me of it. Oh, I see- a contradiction. We will have to carry on and I will let you know the truth- the right one.

To say that Golden Trio had been dismantled is not enough, what really matters is the aftermath. Ron had his nightly rendezvous with Luna, reports of which, given by my best friend himself, frightened me to death and forced me to demand complete silence on that topic. He conceded and left me alone. Well, not quite.

That brings us to the Hermione's life. My bookish friend shunned herself from the world and decided to explore the vast spaces of Hogwart's library. The aforementioned institution was completely rebuilt with addition of a completely new Mugle section. You know my old attitude to learning- somehow managing to pass my subjects and overall average at best. Therefore, I was surprised when she showed up and forced me to help her with organizing of numerous tomes and old books. She also made a habit of our work together and forced me to focus on my studies. Ron just laughed, when I described twelve uses for dragon blood and told me something I didn't like at all. Hermione turning me into one of her little crusade projects? What nonsense! Or so I thought, I have to admit that it was quite short-sighted of me.

You see, I considered her a sibling I never had. Ginny was comfortable with Hermione working my arse off. Apparently, my girlfriend thought that all my free time was spent on fantasising about Sue Bones' big cleavage and impossibly long legs of that accursed snake Daphne Greengrass. In Ginny-logic Hermione was safe. You are aware of the fact that I am Harry Potter? Perfect. Then you must know that the world is a place where the worst scenarios always come true, exclusively for little me.

I remember that day in the February very clearly. I headed for the library straight after the lunch. We studied History of Magic, NEWTS level, for five straight hours, when she suddenly blushed and uttered the words. At first I thought it a good joke. I understood what a sticky mess I managed to land myself into by the time she started crying. She actually said that she loved me.

To say that I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. I declined her confession, very politely and pointed out that I had a girlfriend whom I admired and loved very much. What a bloody sap I used to be! I even gave her my handkerchief and helped to calm down. She never brought it up again.

You think me inconsistent in my narrative? Maybe it is my anger speaking- the emotion that clouds one's mind and denies him the advantage of cold and clear calculation.

Legal help Hermione provided to Ginny? Oh, that was the thing you wanted to know the most? How could a nearly grown woman who was, by her own words, harboring deep feelings towards me suddenly turn and take all my material possessions?

As I said, war changed us forever. My refusal of her emotions had produced a terrible backlash as she buried herself in those causes of hers-house elf rights, centaur rights, goblin rights, redistribution of wealth and restructualisation of the whole wizarding society. She would have used me and my name for the same purpose as she used Terry, son of one of the Wizengamot Lords. I don't bemoan the money I've lost. I should had been more careful and less blindly trusting. It was completely different from my dealings with certain lemon drop sucking, old codger.

Hermione is a brilliant witch, no doubt about that. She is also egalitarian to the bone. Half of my money ended up in the hand of War Widows and Orphans fund. Ministry ran it through old pureblood tax of 50% of all the property from those who did not support lord Voldemort openly and everything from those who did. My Potter inheritance was linked with Ginevra, she had my mother's ring after all. All that I have is the remaining half of the Black property, which is some measly ten thousand galleons.

What in the Merlin´s name is this chap talking about you might ask. Well, the time has not yet come for you to hear of the grand stupid thing that I let them get away with.

This is the truth, the only truth so help me... Well, you know the rest.

I said I had no obligations to anyone. That was probably an exaggeration. There is someone I am obliged to care for. By law, by the customs, by familiar bond I am expected to share.

I talk about my godson, of course and it comes as no surprise that I have to play a role of penitent man. Andromeda Tonks may be a kind woman, but she is a Black where it matters.

Now, it matters very much.

I return to the debate. Is it not why you are here? Well, the standards of cauldron bottoms seem to be the right red meat. Right for some.

* * *

Near Oxford Street, London, there is a luxurious tower, built of concrete, steel and glass. It is a Muggle building, but in flat n. 342 lives a wizarding marital pair. Neighbours of Mr and Mrs Granger

"Hermione, love, come to bed." She flinches. Terry may be anything, but his eyes are exceptionally good and his wit quick. Admittedly, it seems to fail when his beautiful wife is concerned. She is sitting at her working table, reading reports. Former Ravenclaw is very aware of this passive adversity, but there is nothing he can do with it. He is a modern and sensible man. She is a modern and sensible woman. Their demands are reasonable, intellectual, and sensible. He would change reason for passion, intellect for sensuality and sensibility for love. What he would give for a hug full of affection or some other kind of indication that his wife truly belongs to him. No, this is the way his father thinks. Old ways are doomed to be destroyed. It is inevitable.

He waits patiently. What else is there to do? He will not force her into anything. His place is beside her. It takes her nearly two hours. Midnight is near and will pass very soon.

She slides next to him. Sheets are made of satin. One flick of her wand puts the lights out.

"Hermione, I want to know." Terry is very well aware of the delicacy of the issue he tries to bring up.

"I want to know what is happening with us. Please, tell me. He spoke with me today in the Ministry cafeteria. He came to me and asked me all sorts of questions. What kind of wife are you, love? What kind of wife

She was apparently asleep the whole time. He doesn't want to touch her. It had always been a lie. They will go on, pretending that nothing is amiss. He will have his job and charity and she will have her crusades and … He doesn't want to think about it.

He never hears the sound of tears, as they splatter over the pillow. He never notices faint sobbing. He is the only one who will sleep tonight.

They are together, but apart.

* * *

After I tell you that I am standing under a balcony you will probably wave your hands and say: "|Is that all you have to say? Entertain us more, you faceless monkey!" When I tell you that this balcony belongs to the woman of my purse´s dreams- Mademoiselle Greengrass you will surely understand what I am about to do next. Please, understand and forgive the ridiculous nature of the setting, enactment and perhaps you will do the right thing. Perhaps you will call the Aurors. Let me tell you about it some other time then.

* * *

"Master," My head is thumping with dull pain as my heart pulses blood through my veins. "You cannot drink so much. You've got Kreacher worried." Small house elf points to the bottles that lie scattered all around the dark living room. My stomach is growling menacingly as I try to stand up. I am struggling to get up and so he helps me.

"Tempus." Small numbers appear before me and announce that the time is nigh.

"Master must be careful, Kreacher is too old to be everywhere." I try to steady myself. The worst part of the day is still ahead of me.

"Kreacher? ""Master, you is all right?" He is a good servant.

"Everything is fine, Kreacher. We will proceed to the tower. Do you have everything?

"Of course, Master, Kreacher prepared all thingies and magical water for you."

Yes, Grimauld Place 12 has a very nice room near the top and you can get there from a hidden path beside the main staircase. I light my way with a bluebell flame charm, my feet are silenced. Nothing will disturb the house.

We pass through the hidden door and I step into a circular room which only contains few items I am going to use tonight.

"Master, I don't want to bind your wrists so tight. You may injure yourself." I give him a very awkward smile.

"You know as well as I do that there is no going back. Make sure that the chains are all nicely done." I put two large basins before me. It should be here any second. Any minute now. Kreacher looks tired and I think I am to blame.

"Master, what is you going to do about days to come?" That old hag should have taught him to speak normally.

"What are you talking about?" My house elf is not one to question any of my actions or motives, so you can imagine my surprise.

"Your friends, Master. Are they to know about this?" Servant and my only companion for all those long years. Loyalty of the house elves is nothing surprising; I can still feel the roughness of the shovel with which I dug the hole after Bill Weasley granted us a shelter at his bachelor nest.

"No, you are forbidden to disclose information about this in any way." I am very careful to formulate the order. Don't want to have any loopholes, do we?

"As you wish, Master." He still calls me that. It took me years to get used to the nature of our relationship, but he insisted to form contract of subservience.

He leaves the room and locks the door. I prepare myself. Clear my mind.

 _"Pathetic, Potter..."_ It is Snape's voice. I always hear it at the beginning. Probably just an echo of my first memory connected with the mind arts. I always hated the git and it is good that he is six feet under. I don't believe in redemption. Any second now.

Runes are starting to glow, burning into my eyes. Seven hundred seventy-seven, seven hundred seventy-six…

There is a fine line between the world of dreams and the world of memories. My head is the greatest enemy of them all.

" _Look deeper, Potter. Are you a coward? What is there to be afraid of_?" Skyellyg's raspy voice. His Italian is fast as a lash and merciless to my tortured brain. I cannot remember anything other than the pain.

When the expected sensation comes, my head feels as if it were about to explode. My skin is tearing as hot pokers of torturous pain flash trough me. Runes are running haphazardly around my half-naked body and burn into my painfully stretched skin. I absolutely refuse to scream.

I can hear Hermione crying: that is a new one. It gets worse. Nevertheless, I have to endure this. I must, or there will be no dawn for my world. I can see some silvery glow. When did that happen? Blast, I was hoping that the pool was finally about to shrink. It was supposed to work this way. Runes are blazing even more brightly and I can see them writing themselves, carving even deeper into my pale hands. It is a silence that greets me. Another tremor runs through the tortured body. I slowly will the scourge to move. Darkness, sweat and cold air slowly seeping in through the tower's air vent. This was just the first of the long series of searches. I try to clear my mind. It must be somewhere. Was the Forbidden Library reading for naught? I have to force the memory. I have to find it.

 _I perish by this people which I made,-_

 _Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again_

 _To rule once more-but let what will be, be,_

 _I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm_

 _That without help I cannot last till morn._

Near, very near this time. Skyellyg and the Institute would never guess that I would hide something behind a Muggle poem. Just a step more. Just one more charge into the breach.

" _You can come and live with me, Harry. The house is not that much…but…"_ Sirius, I miss him every day. He would liven up this world. Eight hundred forty-four

 _"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_ This is the worst exercise I've ever experienced. Great nails pin through my skull and down my spine. I desperately want to spit. The Image is followed by another and another. I must hold. Merlin help me. Merlin help us all.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Dear readers, thank you for your feedback and lovely reviews. One can only wish to get more of them. Happy New Year. Oh, if there is a scene in this one that reminds you of a certain film released just a few weeks ago...Well, I simply couldn´t help myself.**

 **Quick note: There are no life debts owed. It would be terribly easy to invoke them and see people choke, and there will be plenty of choking I assure you.**

 **Department Chief is the highest position in the Ministry´s Cabinet, second one being Head with Undersecretary. This is given as a semi alt- historic nod to various clans who held some positions for decades.**

 **I noticed a massive mistake on my part, in a few segments of the first two chapters- a different tense having to do with the old versions of the former versions of alternate possibilities for the story. How I could upload it I cannot imagine. Apologies for the inconvenience, will be remedied in the following week.**

* * *

 **Chapter V: Hand in Hand to Hell**

Oh, hello there! You can see me as I stand alone and deftly avoid several Muggles as I cast repelling wards. Time for subterfuge is over and my pursuers are hot on my heels. I take a breath and open the door on my right. Angles and sides shift. I stand in a long hallway lit by torches and several people approach me. The closed doorway behind me lights up, but the wards hold. There are two wizards and a witch sitting on uncomfortable chairs.

"Wie heißen Sie, Junge?" There is only one answer: "I am Harry Potter." It is almost amusing how quickly they stand up. My wand is savage and brimming with power. A man walks up to me, holding his conjured shield firmly in place. He speaks every incantation, like a child, and I brush him aside with ease. In less than three seconds his neck breaks and he falls dead to the ground. I could lie to you. Tell you that he is a monster, a murderer and all around blaggard. No, this person has a family- wife and two children, I get a glimpse of their likeness as I rip his mind apart. His colleague dies by my hand just seventy heartbeats later. Many have described the feeling of using the Elder Wand to having an addicting substance pumped into their veins. To me it is akin to people making an assumption about one of the things they usually don´t want to understand- sex or money. I will not be a servant. I will not be a friend.

Another person stands in my way. She is strikingly beautiful- "Potter, you will not escape. He is coming for you. Return to the Institute." I was told that a warrior must feel either hatred to pull on his strength or serenity to keep himself within the well of power. Curiously, I never really feel anything, but the wand in my hand.

"A man with no voice is no man at all, Isabella. I will ask again, where is Skyellyg?" She laughs.

"There are fifteen highly skilled wizards behind the next door. You have lost. It is only a matter of time."

I smile. "Then there is no need for delay. "

She dies fifteen long breaths later. I am already at the door where fifteen brave souls lay in wait for me when she crumbles to dust. Some spells are just nasty.

Daniel Beckmann is a good man. He expects some defiance to the new ideas he and his people fight for. The funny thing is no one is supposed to know that they even exist. Who betrayed them?

The hallway in front of him is dark, pitch black. It was not so just a few moments ago. His Lumos does nothing to diminish the all-encompassing shadows. He hears the doorway shatter, one of the splinters hits him and causes pain. He can already feel the trickle of blood.

There is something there with them. A man in a dark cloak. His wand is alight with red death as he throws Caspar against the ceiling, splitting him in half as he holds him in levitation. Helga, Caspar´s life-long companion lets out a screech that her Veela ancestors would be proud of. "Die, die, die you freak!" The creature or man does not even stop as he shatters her burgeoning shield. She vanishes in red spray. He does not seem to be fond of the word.

"Daniel, quickly. Get the scroll to Skyellyg. We will die here. It´s really him. Quickly before he..." He never finishes as he keels over, metal spikes protruding from his back.

The wizard feels the anti- apparition wards wash over the room as he bounces off the wall when his attempt to leave fails utterly. There seems to be no pleasure on the face of his comrade´s murderer. Then, there seems to be no face at all.

Inge conjures a giant cone of flame and directs it at their assailant. She gives a triumphant shout as he is engulfed by the red-gold mass. It seems that the witch is burning away the dark, feeding it to the fires. But the man is not stopped and as the wall of burning death disintegrates it seems replaced by shapeless void and ice. She dies just moments later as her joy turns to a screech of utter horror. Then a wave pulses through space they occupy and all sound ceases. No more verbal spells and no more cursing.

Jerrod Myrr leaves the earthly coil choking as an invisible cord and Heinrich Koenig as his heart is pierced through the table he attempts to hide behind. The three brothers Bluhm decide to swamp the enemy with conjured animals and the confined space is cramped with lions and a rogue rhino, trampling over everything until they disappear when they turn into sand before reaching their target. He moves so fast that all they are able to percieve before their bloodline ends is an approaching silvery flash.

The remaining wizards and witches watch the failure of their brothers and sisters in shock as the man with effortless ease dances through their defences. Hermann attempts to stop him by drinking Felix Felicis and for a moment he seems to gain upper hand. His reflexes are quick and his spellwork mechanically brilliant. The assailant seems to have trouble overcoming him. His five companions seem intent to capitalise on his success and they bombard the enemy with variety of curses. The sound their spells create is akin to a giant gong as they slide over very strong silvery shield. Fifteen seconds, then minute, and more, they bombard him. Then a black void catches up with Hermann and in the same time they held their defiance they all lie dead, the last one´s windpipe crushed by a well-placed banisher.

The sound is back, crunching of broken glass and pottery underneath the stranger´s feet being the loudest and most persistent noise.

I finally have time to introduce myself.

"Herr Beckmann. It is a pleasure. I am Harry Potter. You are aware that I cannot let you leave now. You have something I need. I assume you understand what item I am referring to. Give it to me and you shall live. I promise. "The Dutchman´s trembling hands signal the end of defiance.

"You must understand that I am now in control. You will point me in the direction of the painting. "There are no shouts of "You monster!" and I feel confident that he will at the very least listen to my offer.

"I want "The Wanderer". I hope I have sufficiently proven to you that there is nothing that will stop me. Least of all disposable bodies. Tell me the location of the piece and I assure you that you or your family will not be harmed. I simply want it. I know you will not betray Skyellyg´s location. But I am a simple man. His head lolls in defeat. I step closer as he starts whispering. I know that he is telling the truth. When it is done I break his wand and apparate to safety.

I do not know the names of all the people I killed on that particular journey. They died like cowards, they passed as brave men and women, whimpering and defiant. So shall I be the same multitude when my time comes. It seems that I am very quickly running out of all things. It is time as my right hand bleeds profusely on the ground. They were really good, better vanish all of it lest they use my own blood against me. There is too much power in it to just let it lie around.

* * *

Dobby was a good servant. He was also a friend. I do not believe that I like the idea of someone merging these roles together again. Though he never truly served only me it would be my person and world he died protecting.

There is a man in Nurmengard, lying dead and for ever content. There is a man who died by my hand, the monster that desired to shake off his mortal crust. Finally, there is a tomb with a man whose wand taken and controlled was the one I tamed. I am here for power and tools to my masterwork must be close to perfection. They were wizards of terryfying scope. I must be better. It is not my fate that is in play.

This time I wake up, tasting ash. Someone is making an awful ruckus at the door. My body hurts and my skin feels like a strange and used peace of plastic I used to do nasty things last night. The runes have faded. My head is throbbing and there is urine on the ground. I make it disappear with a single move of my hand. The wand in the case flies into my hands. The ritual did not wipe my memory and it does not appear that any severe damage to my brain has been done. I shall try again.

It seems that I have to pick up some wedding cake.

* * *

"Potter, where is the report for the stadium? You were supposed to co-ordinate with the Purser from the Exchequer and let me know their current disposition. " Sod that. I was not put on this Earth to ascertain anything, to let anyone know what even the blind can see. This project is doomed.

"Madame Chief, I assure you that the project is at the forefront of my mind. I intend to use my expertise in the field of Runes to ensure its success. The plans are almost ready..." Lie, truth, lie, truth, good intentions et cetera. Wait a moment. Do I really have to spell it out for you? ¨

She is not amused.

"I do not care about your problems, Potter. You were given this job on the understanding that you were capable. I hear things. We all do. But I would´ve never imagined that you would be this reckless with your responsibilities. " She seems truly disappointed. Ten years ago, Harry Potter would have run to assure her of his eagerness to see the project succeed. Now he is truly gone.

"Madame, I will do all in my power to make it a success." She frowns slightly.

"Mr. Potter, you know how I am, this must go well or the heads will roll, don´t forget that yours is the first one on the line. What were you thinking? Taunting the press with your little display? Did you really think that would fly? " She is making her best angry impression. Cue the properly abashed look.

"No, Madame. I know my place. I do not intend to be sticking out. We Silks must hold together." She seems satisfied for a short moment before the next question drops.

"How far along are you then? When do you intend to deliver the complete brief as to the situation. The Minister."

"Mr. Weasley?." She does not appear to be amused. I can be very trying.

"As I said, the Minister asked me personally that I inquire about the progress made. You will be surprised that when I questioned the staff assigned to you they appeared to be at loss as you have only held two meetings in total and did not request any assistance. " She is not yet ready to get rid of me. It is too soon. They gather their dirt on me as they have always done, but time has not come for it to come to light and it never will if I have anything to say about it. She, however, expects an answer.

"The answer is, ma´am, that there was nothing to assist with. I already have all I am going to need. The information I obtained from my meeting with Gringotts supplanted anything I might have needed from the Purser."

"You were made the Undersecretary in my department and make sure that everything is a group effort. We succeed together. We fight the other departments together. You will speak to young Bailey and Finch about any future steps you are going to take. I also pencilled you into the Wizengamot´s Order Paper where you will explain to the House how far the project has progressed and the final date of completion- the Chiefs agreed that it is three months from now." She believes that she has me. Trust me, I am a little bit nervous. The gloves are coming off soon. What is a man of terrible temper to do in these trying times?

"Thank you for your trust, Madame Chief. I shall gladly speak to the Wizengamot about my findings and the progress we are making. I would also like to raise one more thing with you, if you allow it." She motions with her hand and I as an obedient subject speak.

"Let me invite you to my wedding, ma´am. It would be a great honour to me and the House of Potter to have you present for the happiest day of my life.

"That is very flattering, Potter, but it wouldn´t do good should I appear to favour one of my people." I give her a crooked smile. Well, I cannot actually see the curve of my mouth, but from her reaction I assume it is not something odious.

"I do not mean to insist, ma´am, but it would be a very good idea for you personally. If I understand you are a distant relation to my fiancé, Daphne." The familiarity is always necessary. You must not be uncomfortable to get into people´s personal space- be it physical or psychological. It is very much like being a dog marking his territory. Just piss all over, the skill comes with time and frequency.

You see I am not usually a betting man, but let me take this bet. Let me make you believe that as they have always forgotten the bad when I was needed I can squeeze a lot out of the good that appears out of nowhere. You know- like magic.

* * *

Both factions in Wizengamot- the ´Pies and Silks have divided the House. Nowadays, each one of them is politically impotent to such an extent that it has to borrow defectors from the other side, just to be able to keep up. "You steal still. They only respond: Are you still so sadly soft hearted? One must always adopt the mark of what he fears the most. Why else would a man so inferior in power protect his family against a behemoth coming for him? I have stolen and my heart was more available to anyone than a two-penny whore, therefore, I can easily change sides without being compromised by trivial concepts such as "conscience".

"Hello, Susan." She is not speaking to me. She turns her head and stares into the vacant void. "You left me early," she sniffs.

"My auntie always warned me against men who don´t stay." There is a disappointed smile on her face, I imagine, and some part of me yearns desperately to wipe it off, if it truly exists. She is soft, something inside of me murmurs, too soft for the journey ahead. I intend to silence these thoughts for ever.

"Amelia Bones is dead, love." She winces slightly, but nods all the same. We, the children of our war, have learned everything there is about facing the truth. And loss.

"You are too honest, Harry Potter. I should be terribly cross with you." She finally turns to me and one can admire her pale skin, so pale that it shines like first snow. Away I said! Miserable brain.

"I apologise," there is a bow I execute perfectly. You did not see anything. "I deeply regret whatever crime I must have committed to make you angry with me, Sue." Her head bobs and rises, her eyes full of lightning

"You forgot to mention that you belonged to someone else. Or perhaps you omitted that little detail when you took me to bed." There is something sensitive about every sentence she lets out. She seems very small right now. I cannot comfort her. I know my place in all of this.

"I am not here about that. I am going to need your support." There it is. The truth you wanted so desperately. I need her at the moment.

"You have the Charter, don´t you?" Her eyes widen. "I am surprised, Sue. I am surprised that it did not end up in hands of those who would make them go insane. I ask that you lend it to me for three weeks. Three weeks and I shall return it to your keeping. None of the elves will be harmed." She does not respond and it is not in shock or anger. When she speaks next her voice is raspy.

"When we found it at the Ministry at the end of war I believed that it was madness playing with my eyes. Who would bind a race of sentient creatures with an unheard of form of magic to servitude to a kind as fickle as we are? The bond is both monstrous and a great responsibility , but you apparently knew that already. I could not give it to Granger´s clique. We all remember what happened in Greenhaven with those werewolves." She looks at me sharply, her stare piercing me through. I could almost believe her to be a Legillimens.

"I will trust you, Harry Potter. You betrayed my trust once. I did it as well, when we were much younger. I should have trusted the silent, humble boy." She rummages through the drawers of her table for a little bit, producing a peculiar white box. She closes her baby blues and opens her crimson mouth. She bites her lip as a needle pierces her skin. A single drop of blood falls on the things surface of the thing she is holding. It emits a rattling sound and opens like a flower.

In the midst of the contraption lays a piece of parchment. I reach out with my hand. A smaller and softer one stops me. "Promise me, Harry or whatever you are now. Give me your word." I reply by lifting up my sleeves.

"Lets make a vow then. I am willing to."

"No," her refusal is sharp and striking. "I choose to believe that you will use it for the right thing. After all, it´s your and Madame Marbles´ head on the pike should your Department´s project fail. I will keep your secret just as you kept mine." I nod in respect. Sometimes I forget that the game I play is populated by other good players.

I turn to leave when her voice stops me, it is laced with steel and unnaturally saccharine.

"And Harry Potter, don´t think for a moment that we two are done."

Well, bugger.

* * *

Layer upon layer of material is heaping in front of me. You see the stadium cannot be built or made. It must be created. Since there are no unicorn tears and maiden hair available I make do. The venture is almost impossible. Fortunately, I live in a world where that word should not exist. What is life without a few friends. Well, willingly indentured servants. I said the project is doomed.

Utterly, should someone like myself not lend a hand and obtain thousand more limbs to help. Tom Riddle saw the power in himself- the only source he would ever be content with. Everything was a threat and everyone a potential enemy. I, on the other hand thrive in indifference. As I stated- I believe in tools. The hand guiding them should move them and not linger. You can always find a new rake in your garden shed.

"Harry Potter, sir!" One of the house elves exclaims. "We is bringing more kin from the Emerald Isle." I only nod.

"Very well, my friend. Inform them of the task at hand and the reward will belong to all of us. Inform me when the clock strikes six."

The spires of the future stadium are a monument. There is an inscription woven into their structure. I used old Saxon futhark, describing their purpose. I am standing in the ring of fire and watch they form, stands serving as barriers slowly knit together and to you such a feat must seem impossible. My wand forms patterns, golden bows in the air as it resonates with magic.

Well, obscurity will not serve here. The doorway on my right seems innocuous, but is anything but. You see, workers are necessary, time is necessary. The power I invest must return. The thing is I consider it useful. You may find many a Muggle staring into infinity without being able to actually see it. I transfer as many House Elves as possible from the corners of the Old Empire. The French ones for the marble, the Irish for crafts and sapphires, the British for the tradition, the Indian for the splendour, the Canadian for the ageless trunks of living wood. I could go on. There is at least ten thousand souls around me and it does not matter. The stadium shall be finished, but the sheer size and scale of this achievement bears nothing anymore.

The gold gathered from sea water envelopes the entire structure, falladium- an incredibly impossible metal covers the final layer like glass, making it nigh indestructible. You can see my little helpers popping around the place adding and moving everything where my magic is not used.

Why don´t you use the Elves to help yourself out. They could win everything for you, or at the very least they could make you rich so You wouldn´t have to drudge through countless papers.

Well, my prudent friend, Susan Bones might not have bound me with an oath, but the Charter is binding. To do as bid. To do so not at the profit of holder, but for his protection. Not to his benefit, but for his good and orderly life. I can make life of others easier and after this long stay in a time-bubble my mind is trying to adjust. I must wait before my other self leaves through the other door. Two years have passed here, the small contraption is able to rotate and stop the time-travelling bauble and let me have an hour more. The core sand is turning red, slowly and surely I am running out. We have moved my friends, moved and aged.

The Time Turner coughs its last. The temporary displacement disappears and the stadium comes into life. I spit blood as the wards activate. My little helpers bow and slowly disappear as I promise each group that the magic has been served and their quiet lives may resume.

The entire work shimmers and disappears. Two years taken from my life and the last of the most precious items gone- that was the cost. I can never go back to remake anything, to learn what I will miss in the future, to hold onto things. I am going to lose more than I am prepared. Now there is no turning back. You better hope that my plan is as good as I believe it to be, my friend.

You did not think that the idea for the stadium came from Arthur´s head did you?

* * *

"Is the Minister aware that Gringotts is flaunting our Sentient Beings Act and still refuses certain Members of the Wizengamot the right to deal in commerce. The law is clear- respect is to be afforded by both sides. Yet Lord Malfoy and I were insulted when we visited said institution with a sound business plan. I would not mind. The creature..." there is an uproar.

"Silencioooooo!" Everything plunges into quiet and you can hear a pin drop. Nott is left looking like a ridiculously oversized carp. "Now that the Right Honorable Members have had a moment to contemplate their contribution to the debate they may continue." Theodore glares at Babbington- the Chief Warlock is a stern disciplinarian and runs a tight ship.

"As you were before my friend was interrupted." The spell is lifted and the former Death Eater continues. Why is he alive? You kill people in Germany, we don´t understand. What are your motives? Why haven´t you slaughtered all the kiddie followers of Voldemort. Surely, they must be the first of your enemies. Do you remember what happened with the Nazi administrators? Well. We all have some use for our criminals. If it makes you happy I have to admit that this is not about revenge. There you have it. THE truth. One of them anyway.

"Is the Rt Honourable Lord´s intention to bore us to tears?" I can hear a few snickers and more "ayes" than necessary- "The gentleman must be aware that commerce, just as relations of romantic nature, requires two _willing_ parties. It seems that the lad...goblins simply did not want to dance. Is the gentleman lacking in other areas?" The man´s face is ashen white. „I met with the goblins last week and found them perfectly amiable. Perhaps he fails to use words when his actions do not speak clearly. Of perhaps it is a clear pattern of failure that he seeks to stick to rather than his simple general ineptitude. I stand up.

" Chief Warlock, I would ask the gentleman to give floor. I am scheduled for the next appearance and I would be deliriously happy to extend my answer to the gentlemen as a courtesy to his... skill." There is silent murmuring and someone nudges Nott from behind. He clears his throat.

"I yield the ground to the Rt Honourable Lord Potter, he appears to have more to say to the matter concerning others than the people affected." It sounds terrible as if Theo were the victim in this particular story.

"I thank him for the kind words. But does he know that Gringotts will treat hostile any manner of arrogance and false pretence? I have spoken to the banker´s just recently and I am afraid that the gentleman´s problems with goblins simply lie in lack of good manners." There is humming behind me as sea of voices rises with "aye" and cements my performance. This is what the House is all about. Sharp stick here, carrot there, slap on the wrist and pat on the back- these are all necessary to keep the blood flowing.

"Does he also know that the goblins may kill anyone who insults them on their sacred grounds?" The humming behind me rises and falls. It is the epitome of what St. Brutus´ schoolyard would have been like, if I ever actually attended said institution.

"These accidentally encompass the entire area of the bank and its underground. I would like to congratulate Lord Nott on surviving his experience and would like to extend my hand should I need someone to as a bloody canary, a person without an ounce of self-preservation would be the best option." Yes, I sound terrible. He only nods appreciatively as if the insult was an actual job offer.

"The reason behind my visit, however, was not to exchange pleasantries with Goblins." A silence descends, oppressive and heavy. I am being listened to.

"Many colleagues and old acquaintances have been curious as to the reason for my return. I want to thank the Minister and all the members of his Cabinet for their gracious welcome. He welcomed me with open arms and gave a job that allowed me to understand the workings of our wonderful country." Yes, I imagine that you can also see the smug faces. I was pencilled in. I will speak to ensure that any misunderstandings are a thing of past. The acquiescing "ayes" do not help. I am standing and every word is watched.

"However, as a true patriot it is with heavy heart that I have to report my grave concerns about the state of the British Wizardkind." The smiles start disappearing. The pebbles have been thrown and now the circles will bridge the Rubicon.

"I would like to ask for the floor, Chief Warlock." It´s my Chief. She is a good woman, but heads must roll, you cannot begrudge that I will move my own from the chopping block by making the said piece of wood obsolete.

"The Rt Honourable Lady has not been scheduled. Does Lord Potter object to a change in the order?"

"I object, Chief Warlock. I was asked to speak on the behalf of the Government and I intend to do just that."

"I will respect the Honourable Member´s decision, you must keep to the House order, Chief. Lord Potter, please, do continue." It is nice to use procedures say the yes-men with sticks up their arses. It is beautiful to use processes to your advantage.

"Thank you, Chief Warlock. I have here a recorded statement in a form of a memory and a sworn statement by the most able of Memory Staff- John Pym attesting to its genuine and true nature." Yes, another momentous decision appreciated by an applause.

"Tell me, goblin. How much did the Ministry assign to the Stadium project. The Bursar sent me to ensure." The picture is blue, fading lines across it represent the impossibility of perfect recollection.

"Human, your little Ministry did not send you. What do you want?" The disdain drips from the goblin´s voice.

"As I said, I am looking for the funds assigned to the project." There is a short silence the goblin grins and his hand pushes a ledger over the table.

"Ah, yes. The funds that the Ministry allocated towards your Grand Stadium."

"Is this supposed to be a bad jest, banker? These assets show that there is nothing assigned to the project." The words of my memory-self are curious and slightly alarmed.

"Tell me Mr. Potter. Are you an accountant? " The creature sighs arrogantly.

"No, I am not. Do you remember those „Are you?" cartoons? Well, whatever the problem they always gave guidance as how to conduct oneself. Are you a hero? Are you? The make the argument for the blind and dull here."

"Then the term „Hand in hand" means nothing to you." I look just as it was supposed to be. My mirage other appears to be utterly naive. Can you tell me Sgt. Pepper? Please, tell me why the sun is bright and rises on the sky every day...Please.

"Yes, of course I have. Does it mean that the available funds are to be used in coordination with other, more recent, streams of revenue to supplement a shortage in financing of a project?"

"It means, Potter, that the money for the stadium has already been spent elsewhere. The hand hands over to the other. The money has been used in pursuit of your Ministry´s policies and the debts it owed to Gringotts for the mistreatment of my kind." There is loud crack and the low humming tide of discontent rises from the benches, back and front.

"You want to tell me that there is no chance of getting to the money. That the project is _de facto_ broke?"

"I see. You just wasted my time, goblin."

"As do you with every breath you take and every bit of gold you keep from us. We remember, Harry Potter. The discussion is not done just because you atoned. You´ve touched our gold, stole from us and now you come here, you little pissant and you demand? The gold is ours. The interest has been accrued...

"I apologise, that is where the memory ends." The clerk is nervous and it could mean trouble for him. Fortunately, no one really cares. The havoc is beautiful.

They shout like wild beasts, both groups whose divisions are the cracks on the foundation of my people are united for a moment. No one speaks of it. It groans and it rages in us. This slight will not be forgotten.

They want to shout: "TO WAR!" No, it is too soon.

"SILENCEEEEEEE! The Rt Honourable Member would like to say a few more words.

„I do not care about the goblins my Lords and Ladies. I care about our future. The Minister has invested and turned all the power of our great institutions towards the impossible goal. I and my constituents were appalled when we learned of this treachery. I for one will not stand for shame and villainy. We have put together a pot of galleons and I would like to announce that we have managed to raise a total of one hundred and fifty thousand galleons. The local businesses have pledged more." There is shouting at the gallery, but I decide to ignore it utterly.

"Why was this not shared with all of you earlier? I simply believe that passing a problem to the people who created it in the first place makes it even grander. I feel ashamed to have even the most minuscule part in this. There are people in this Chamber who have served here for decades. Do you not feel deeply saddened that this is what we have come to?" Begging for our dignity?" I stop for a moment, they are all waiting with a bated breath for the next word to fall out of my mouth.

"I would like to announce that after the people who believed enough in my tarnished reputation to get me elected invested their free resources into this I managed to secure a funding through one of our countries greatest contributors. The stadium will be finished in months´ time. Thank you for listening." The deafening roar cannot be stopped. It rises and ebbs like an ocean closing behind me. Is this what belonging means? I would not know. Remember, I am in it for me.

Arthur is sitting at the gallery and I pass him with a nod. Piece of silver for you, guv. I am done here.

As I said many, many times- places to be, weddings to endure.

* * *

Undersecretary Granger is looking at a piece of paper. It is ornate and the flowing, flowery script makes her ill.

 _You are cordially invited..._ A thought runs through her head: What have I done? Bluebell flames scorch the invitation until it turns to dust.

* * *

I am late of course. A letter describing our courtship would be woefully short. There are limericks more detailed than the moments decisive in binding of our fates. You see my friend, magical marriage is simple. It is for ever. Until the death does us part. My paternal grandmother Dorea Black enchanted her future husband with a potion. These vile concoctions have been a constant on the good side- enhancing the wedded bliss.

"I am not taking anything, dear," I told Daphne. She insists. My head is swimming as one of the last batches of Felix Felicis floats through my system. Ron as the best man stands straight as an arrow- an admirable feat, considering his delightfully drunken state. „Mate, if someone told me that I would be ´ere serebl...celebrating my best mate´s weddin to the snake over there I would tell them to bugger off." There are shocked gasps. You do not speak to créme de la créme of the high society in that manner, should you desire to remain part of it. My best friend, Merlin bless his soul, does not care. He has good word for me and his eyes all for the little waif of a woman in a silver number. He grins for Luna and continues: "I decided to forgive the snake for two things. First, she´s hot! Like really really hot. So good for ya mate! Second, my mum would like to see more grandkids. Since I´m not plannin´ on having any more this year an´ since she conshiders you her ´onorary sun…the torch is in your ´and!" He lifts his glass.

"For Harry and Daphne, you sourpusses!" The reluctant clapping grows stronger as my wife-to-be glares at her extended family. Soon they are cheering for the joining.

A man I do not know steps out, everyone is wearing their best. Daphne is standing very close. So near that I can easily count freckles on her nose. There are none. There is that all-knowing smirk that I am already learning to despise. The ceremonial puppet joins our hands with a golden cloth. His wand moves in circles projecting signs and images of fertility and prosperity as he begins the mind-numbing narration:

"Repeat after me. To thee and thine hand." I take lead: „To thee and thine hand."

"I place my hearth and hold." My friends, believe that I have to take this path.

"To thine life I intertwine mine." Her hand does not tremble as we touch. She does not retract it. I suppose one could call it brave.

"To meet thine end I acquit."

"To hold thy thoughts as high as mine I promise." So she and I promise as a golden spire glows through the tent.

There is a flash, wrapped and sealed. I feel like a piece of meat just sold to a particularly hungry carnivore. She will let me have something. That is part of our agreement. The most important pieces of my own self shall remain intact. Life is always a compromise.

I used to dream of what life would be like when I had a wife. No particular person came in mind then. There was a fireplace and three unruly children, or perhaps four well-behaved angels. Orphans have their own dreams you know.

To love and to hold. Before magic and things of old. Pell Mell indeed. Daphne´s smirk lights up more as she turns to our guests. She firmly squeezes our joined hands. The bed awaits us.

* * *

Oh, you are still here. Well, damn it- so Am I- for my sins. Let me fall asleep. Her hands were soft and so very warm, that is all I am going to say.


End file.
